A God Should Not Have A Sense Of Humor
by Shyanne
Summary: Due to a very troublesome god, a girl is transported to Tortall, right into the lands surrounding Pirate's Swoop. Complications? She's never heard of Tortall and thinks she's going mad. UPDATED AT LAST!
1. Are You A Spy?

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A God Should Not Have A Sense of Humor

Disclaimer: None of it is mine, except Imogen and the plot, such as it is. I don't even own Saint Margaret's. Everything else belongs to Tamora Pierce.

"Life is insane," Imogen Darcy announced to thin air. "Absolutely insane." Groaning, she swung her heavy bookbag over her shoulder, wondering for the thousandth time why her teachers insisted in the students carrying around so many textbooks. Wouldn't it be easier just to make photocopies? However, in Saint Margaret's Boarding School for Girls, photocopies were unacceptable, which is why Imogen was at the current moment lugging about fifty pounds of books around in an old nylon bag that looked as though it would burst at the seams at any second. 

Looking at her watch, Imogen groaned again. She had three minutes to get to her music class. "Miss Chisholm will have my hide this time," she muttered as she began to run down the suddenly deserted hallway. She skidded to a stop just outside the classroom door and tried desperately to tame the tendrils of damp hair that had escaped her tight bun. Giving up, she pulled open the door to face the music mistress and the hostile stares of the other twelve girls sharing her class.

If Imogen had any choice, she would have been miles away from Saint Margaret's and all the girls attending it. Unfortunately, she had no choice. Her parents had died in a freak car accident the year before, leaving a girl without relative or home. The state authorities had sent her to boarding school until such time as they could arrange a proper foster home for her, and Imogen hated it. The girls at Saint Margaret's were all from the most privileged families, and a more snobbish bunch she couldn't imagine. Imogen had come to the school still mourning the deaths of her parents and the loss of all familiar to her. The state officials had said that Saint Margaret's would teach Imogen many important life lessons, and it had. It taught Imogen never, ever to let emotion show.

Imogen was now seventeen and in her graduating year. She wasn't exactly pretty, but she wasn't ugly either. She stood five feet seven inches in her sock feet and, as her housemistress said scornfully, was thin as an iron railing, with about as much figure. Her eyes were pale green with swirls of gold, hidden under long, fawn-colored lashes. Imogen's hair was of that peculiar fair coloring that became lighter and lighter as time wore on, until now it was so pale as to be almost white. Of the girls in the Grade 12, while certainly not the prettiest, she was certainly the most distinctive. 

Now, as she gazed at the music mistress, her eyes were as blank as mirrors. After being teased unmercifully by her fellows after they learned she cried herself to sleep each night, Imogen had learned never to smile, never to cry, never to let anyone know what she felt. Needless to say, this prejudiced the other girls even more against her.

"Miss Darcy, if you cannot come to class on time, maybe you had better consider not coming at all?" Miss Chisholm said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Imogen didn't even flinch. Miss Chisholm did not like Imogen, and the whole school knew it.

"I am sorry, Miss Chisholm. I was distracted and did not notice the time," Imogen said calmly, inwardly seething. "It will not happen again."

"Very well, Miss Darcy," the music mistress said irately. "But be aware I will be speaking with the headmistress about your conduct."

As she walked to her seat, Imogen's face didn't betray a flicker of the panic that seized her. Mistress Longbottom, the headmistress, was very strict about punctuality, and Imogen already had many black marks against her. Only last week the headmistress had warned her that any more infractions would result in Imogen being expelled from Saint Margaret's, and then where would she go?

Five minutes later Imogen was, as usual, bored almost to tears. She loved music, but Miss Chisholm went heavy on the theory and not on the actual playing. Imogen sang mezzo-soprano in the school choir, one of the few areas where she could truly relax and let her emotions out. Sighing, she turned her attention back to the board where Miss Chisel (Imogen's private name for her) was explaining how to write out chromatic scales.

Suddenly the room began to pitch violently. Imogen shot up in her seat, instinctively realizing that this was an earthquake even before the other girls' panicked shouts.

"Everybody out!" Miss Chisholm bellowed. 

__

*Well, you have to give the woman credit for a good pair of lungs, * Imogen thought detachedly as she fought to get out through the entrance. A girl elbowed her sharply in the ribs, knocking her wind out, just as another crushed her against the doorframe. Looking up, she saw a pair of mocking brown eyes belonging to Belinda, the leader of a clique of Grade 12 girls. With another "unintentional" shove, Imogen's head made violent contact with the hard teakwood doorframe. 

Her last thought before the world went blank was *_Oh gods, get me out of here! *_

A god was listening.

Unfortunately, he had a sense of humor.

Imogen regained consciousness slowly. She was lying in some kind of moss-covered dell, surrounded by woods on every side. She sat up carefully and winced as a sharp pain shot through her head. _*Gods-cursed Belinda*,_ she mentally swore. Gingerly she touched the back of her skull. Under her fingers Imogen felt a lump as large as a goose egg. Blood caked her hair, and she panicked for a moment before remembering that scalp wounds, even shallow ones, bled profusely. If it had been a serious injury she would have been dead by now.

Glancing around, Imogen saw her bookbag lying beside her, papers strewn all around. Her dark green woolen cardigan was snagged on a tree branch a short distance away. All in all, the appearance of Imogen and her belongings was that she had been unceremoniously dumped in the middle of a deserted wood.

Moaning, Imogen scrambled to her feet, her sore head screaming in protest. Stiffly she began to gather up the loose papers, all the while her brain working furiously. Straightening up, she addressed the silent trees. "Well, it's obvious that the earthquake is over. It seems that I fainted and was deposited in the woods until I recuperated. But then where are the others? Surely the teachers would make sure somebody waited for me." Imogen frowned slightly. "Well, I had better stay put until they come back to get me. The woods on these grounds are huge."

Imogen deposited the pile of papers she had gathered under the tree where her sweater was hung. Squinting at the sun through a gap in the trees, she estimated the time to be about five in the evening, roughly an hour and a half before it became dark. A feeling of dread began to grow in Imogen's stomach. It was only March and nights still got very cold. She glanced at her school uniform and smiled wryly. All she was wearing was a knee-length dark green plaid skirt, knee socks, flat brown shoes, and a thin cotton blouse. Even with her sweater there was not much to keep out the chill. 

Imogen mentally shook herself. _*They'll find me by then*_**, **she thought, trying to convince herself._*Surely they'll find me by then.*_

************************************************************

An hour later, Imogen had finally accepted the fact that she wasn't going to be found before dark. She had shouted, sung, and generally made any type of noise she thought would lead searchers to her, with no apparent result. Now, huddled down in her cardigan, she was facing the fact that she would be spending a cold night alone in the woods.

"How could this have happened?" she wondered aloud. "Even if the girls didn't say anything, surely the teachers would have noticed I'm missing. They're quick enough to jump on me when I'm late for class or have my light on past curfew."

Imogen shivered, drawing her sweater more tightly around her shoulders. The cold night air chilled her to the bone. Already her toes were getting numb. She curled her fingers in against her palms, hoping to stave off the chill slowly creeping up from her feet. She was so tired! Maybe just a little sleep…no! She had to keep awake, had to keep warm. Desperate, she turned her attention to counting the leaves in the tree above her.

Despite her best intentions, Imogen was asleep before she reached fifty.

__

If Imogen had been able to fight the divine sleep pressing against her eyelids, she would have seen a most bizarre man walk into the clearing. His hair and eyes were orange and his robes green. The god (for he was a god) smiled slightly. His task was complete. One mortal every three centuries was exchanged between the worlds, and this girl fit the bill perfectly. Young, strong, an outcast in her own universe, and with no unfortunate ties to make her unhappy in her new home. The god smiled again. Yes, he had done well…

*************************************************************************************

It was the voices that awoke Imogen. Awful, piercing, arguing, shouting voices surrounded her.

"I don't care what you say, Evin," a woman's voice screeched. "Spy or not, she's only a child, and likely frozen to the bone."

"But, Bella," protested a softer, man's voice (likely Evin, Imogen thought drowsily) "Think what our punishment will be if we bring a spy to Pirate's Swoop. You know Lady Alanna's a prime target."

There was a sharp intake of breath and the shrill woman likely would have resumed screaming if Imogen had not chosen that moment to groan and roll over, levering herself off the ground. She had a truly splitting headache.

Opening her eyes, she sat up and glanced curiously at the owners of the voices. The man was tall and tanned with blond hair and blue eyes. The woman was slightly shorter, but her hair was black and her eyes brown. Both were staring at Imogen in astonishment.

Imogen's eyebrows knit together in confusion. "Who are you?" she asked abruptly. "What on earth are you doing here?" How dare these people barge into the school grounds without permission? _*And,*_ Imogen thought, craning her neck around them, _*bringing ponies too.*_

The man let out an exasperated sigh. "My dear girl, it would be more appropriate for us to ask you that. I'm Evin Larse and this is my companion, Isabella Montrose, both of the Queen's Riders. We patrol Lady Alanna and Baron George's estate while the lady is busy. Now, who are you and what are _you_ doing here?"

Imogen was staring at Evin Larse as though he had grown an extra head. "I'm Imogen Darcy, and this is not Lady anybody's private estate. This is the grounds of Saint Margaret's School for Girls."

Now it was Evin's turn to stare. "No," he said slowly. "This is the lands surrounding Pirate's Swoop, the estate of Lady Alanna the Lioness, the King's Champion, in the realm of Tortall. You, my girl, are a suspected spy."

Imogen's eyes went as hard as two green sea pebbles. "I am no spy," she ground out. "You're insane. There is no such place as Tortall. This is Canada."

"Aha!" Evin exclaimed. "Not only a spy, but one set on destroying Tortall and setting up a monarchy of Canada! Men, bind her!"

"Evin, you idiot!" Isabella shrieked. "You have no proof! Innocent until proven guilty, remember?" but it was too late. Before Imogen could so much as blink she was bound fast and gagged with an old rag. Two sturdy men carried her, squirming, spluttering, and glaring, to a spare pony.

"Come on!" said Evin, ignoring Isabella and looking positively gleeful. "We'll take her to Pirate's Swoop! The Lioness can deal with her!"

As the cavalcade swung into action (Isabella was still shrieking), Imogen directed a black look at their leader. _*When I get free, he is a dead steak,*_ she thought darkly.

****

Constructive criticism is welcome, insults are not. I'm going to continue this whether I get reviews or not, since Imogen is hammering away in my head and insists on coming out, but feedback would be appreciated. Evin is being a little overenthusiastic, but he gets better.


	2. Pins and Needles

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Chapter 2: Pins and Needles

Disclaimer: None of it is mine, except Imogen and the plot.

Special thanks to Paige, my one and only reviewer. I will continue this, never fear. Imogen would drive me mad otherwise.

It was when Imogen got her first glimpse of Pirate's Swoop that she first began to doubt her own sanity. In twentieth-century Victoria, Canada, there were only two huge stone mansions, and one was a museum, the other a military college. Besides which, she had seen them both, and this one resembled neither. Also there was the unmistakable fact that catapults had gone out of style several centuries before Imogen was even born, and this fortress sported several. Then there were the fortifications themselves…_nobody_ put sixty-foot high stone walls around their houses in Canada. In fact, If Imogen had not been bound, gagged, and about to have an apoplectic fit from her fury at such treatment, she would have been quite intrigued by Pirate's Swoop. At the moment, however, she was much more involved in imagining horrible tortures for a certain blond, blue-eyed Rider captain by the name of Evin Larse.

Finally (it seemed like hours to Imogen) they arrived at the gates of the mansion. The gatekeeper let them in immediately, clearly recognizing Evin but shooting a curious look at Imogen, who was still glaring daggers. Evin, practically swelling with self-importance, rode right through the town up to the manor house itself. Swinging off his horse, he approached a tall, brown-haired man who had been leaning against a wall watching the train quizzically. 

"Awfully sorry to bother you, Baron George, but we caught a girl in your woods. She seemed like a suspicious character, so we brought her in." 

The Baron straightened abruptly. "A spy, you say?" he inquired sharply. "You sure, Evin?" He darted a glance at Imogen. "T'lass looks awful young."

Evin nodded confidently. "I'm positive, Baron, sir. We caught her skulking in the woods, acting strangely."

"I'd best go get Alanna, then," Baron George said reflectively. "Lucky thing she's still home." He strode off quickly, headed for the mansion.

Imogen was shaking with anger. _*When I get my hands on Evin Larse, I'm going to cut him up into little pieces, barbecue him shish-kabob style and feed him to the crows,* _she thought vindictively, struggling against her bonds. However, her murderous thoughts were interrupted by the reappearance of Baron George, this time with a short red-haired woman in tow. Behind them crept a tall boy of about her own age, also with red hair. From the way he kept to the shadows, Imogen guessed he wasn't supposed to be there.

Lady Alanna raised her eyebrows. "This is the spy?" she said incredulously. "She can't be much older than seventeen. Are the Scanrans so desperate that they're sending _children_ to Tortall?"

Baron George rested a hand on his wife's shoulder. "Maybe we'd best hear what the lass has to say for herself," he suggested gently.

Alanna shook herself violently. "You're right, George," she said. "Keep her bound, Evin, but let her speak."

After Evin had none-too-gently pulled the gag away from Imogen's face, the Baron said sternly, "Now, lass, have you anything to say?"

Apparently Imogen did. She let loose with a string of curses in English, Spanish, French, and Swedish, all directed at Evin Larse. Finishing off with a few very insulting Chinese phrases, Imogen turned back to the Baron and his wife, green eyes snapping, to find everyone staring at her in outright astonishment.

"Goddess," Lady Alanna breathed in awe. "I didn't understand half of that, but I got the gist. Where in Mithros' name did you _learn_ all that?" 

Imogen was finally able to manage a small smile. "Let's just say my mother traveled extensively. _Very_ extensively." 

Alanna's eyes hardened again and Imogen realized belatedly that she had reminded the lady of the house exactly why this strange girl was dumped in her courtyard, scruffy and covered in dirt. Alanna opened her mouth, but Evin Larse beat her to it.

"You are charged with spying within Tortallan boundaries and threatening the safety of the realm," he told Imogen loftily. "What do you have to say to that?"

Imogen glared at him, murder in her eyes. "Oh, I don't deny being a spy," she said, her voice dripping sarcasm. "That's why I was lurking, freezing cold, in clothing that makes me stand out a mile, in the middle of a forest. You absolute imbecile! _Suspicious behavior?_ I was _sleeping_, for heaven's sake! I don't even know where I am, what I'm doing here, or if I'm still in my right mind. And even if I was a spy, don't you think I would have chosen a slightly more interesting location than the middle of a wood with absolutely nothing of strategic use to anybody for miles?"

Alanna stared at her, mouth working soundlessly. Imogen glared right back. Then, to Imogen's extreme surprise, the woman burst out laughing. Absolutely nonplussed, Imogen gazed around to see most of the Rider patrol hastily covering grins, Evin Larse looking very sheepish, and Isabella looking triumphant. More confused than ever, Imogen transferred her attention back to the lady of the house, who was gradually getting her hysterics under control.

Finally Alanna was able to wipe her eyes and stand up straight again. "Sorry about that," the woman apologized, still chuckling. "We're all rather suspicious these days, especially after the Scanran attacks. I suppose we didn't really give you a fair chance, but by Mithros, you sure told us off. I haven't laughed so hard since Neal became a knight."

Imogen stared at her. "So, does that mean I'm no longer a suspected spy, accused of conspiring against the realm?" she asked suspiciously. This pardon was too abrupt for her to really be able to trust.

"You are not," Alanna confirmed. "Evin made a stupid error, which he will of course pay for," (Evin gulped) "but other than that, you're free. If there's anything we can do for you in the meantime, we'd be happy to oblige."

Imogen stared meditatively at her bounds. "Being able to move would be nice," she remarked.

Alanna looked extremely embarrassed. "Oops," she said. "Evin, since you ordered her trussed up like a ham, maybe you had better do the untrussing."

The leader of the Rider Company knelt down by Imogen and started undoing the ropes. "Sorry about that," he said apologetically as he worked. "I get rather overzealous sometimes. Now I'm going to be raked over the coals by Isabella, the Lioness, and Buri. Ah, there you are." The last rope fell from Imogen's bloodless feet.

The girl tried to stand and then immediately sat down again as feet that had been too long deprived of circulation began to protest. "I think I'm going to need a little help here," she gasped, wincing as her feet filled with pins and needles.

Two pairs of hands seized Imogen, one on either side. Looking up, she squarely met the hazel eyes of Baron George Cooper. "C'mon, lass. I think we've got a lot to talk about." And supported by Baron George on one side and Lady Alanna on the other, Imogen made her very lopsided way up to Pirate's Swoop.

Craning her head around to glance back at the courtyard, Imogen saw the mysterious red-haired boy, almost forgotten in all the ruckus, detach himself from the shadows and follow the strange trio up to the fortress. I wonder who he is,* Imogen mused before banishing the mysterious figure from her mind to concentrate on more immediate things, such as the throbbing pain now beginning to manifest itself in her feet.

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And there it is, Chapter Two. Also a note to readers: the secondary genre is romance, but it will not manifest itself until later in the story and even then it won't be all lovey-dovey. I am partially modeling Imogen after one of my friends, who would probably sock anyone in the nose who suggested she has a romantic interest. Imogen's the same. Also, the shish-kabob barbecuing belongs to my friend Betsy, very insane and with a very active imagination for torture. Thanks!


	3. Are So

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Chapter Three: Are So

I have ten reviews! I have ten reviews! Thank you, everyone! I'll try to get another chapter of this up tomorrow, but I can't guarantee my productivity throughout the week. I'm preparing for final exams, so I don't have a lot of time. And for those of you who are curious, this mainly focuses on Pirate's Swoop and Imogen, so if there are any Protector of the Small characters, they don't play any major parts.

Disclaimer: Nothing is mine, except Imogen and the plot.

Fifteen minutes later Imogen was in Baron George's private study, wrapped in a wool blanket and sipping a cup of scalding hot cinnamon tea, recounting the story of how she ended up sleeping in the middle of the woods. Alanna and George were giving her their full attention, and Imogen was finding it slightly unnerving to have two pairs of eyes, one purple, the other hazel, trained on her face so intently.

"So here I am," she concluded with a sigh, setting her empty cup down and wrapping the blanket closer around her shoulders. "I have no idea where I am, if I'm still moderately sane, or if this is someone's idea of a divine joke. All I know is this is definitely not home, and I still think I'm insane."

Alanna looked at George and George looked at Alanna. Imogen could tell from their expressions that they were just as confused as she was. 

"Well, I suppose I could contact Numair," Alanna said slowly. "If anyone knows what this is about, it's him. Maybe he's come across some phenomenon similar to this in his endless research."

"I'll do it," George said, getting up. "You'd better stay and talk to our guest, lady-me-love."

As George left the room, Alanna leaned back in her chair, sighing. "I have no idea what this is about," she admitted frankly. "Both George and I probed you with truthsense, but you're plainly not concealing anything. This has me totally confused." Suddenly the Lioness sat up straight and became business-like. "However, until we get this straightened out, you're welcome to stay here. I'll have to arrange a room for you…" Alanna looked critically at the filthy school uniform, "…and get you some decent clothes."

Never one for procrastination, Alanna got up to make the arrangements. At the door she turned, looked at Imogen one last time, and grinned mischeviously. "You may want to pay some attention to your hair," she said. "You carried a fair proportion of the forest with you."

Imogen reflexively put a hand up to her head and cursed when she felt, as well as the caked blood, twigs and leaves from her forest pillow. "Gods-cursed Tortall," she muttered, pulling out the bobby-pins holding her coil of hair in place. "Gods-cursed earthquake, gods-cursed Saint Margaret's, gods-cursed Evin Larse…"

Finally, after extracting a small mountain of bobby-pins from her hair (A/N: Believe me, if you have long, fine hair, you need a mountain) Imogen's hair finally decided to come down from its coil. As Imogen attempted to run her fingers through it, she hissed angrily. Her hair was sticky with pine sap, dried blood, dirt, and various other substances that Imogen didn't want to identify.

As Imogen tried to pick out the twigs, leaves and needles stuck in the chaotic mass of her hair, a now-familiar flash of red hair in the shadows caught her eye. Sighing in exasperation, she gave up the battle with her hair. "Why don't you come out?" she demanded of the shadowy figure. "I know that you're there, and it's getting annoying seeing you whenever I turn around."

The boy came out, a scowl marring his features. Looking at him irately, Imogen noticed his hair was the same distinctive red of Alanna's, while his eyes were the dancing hazel of Baron George's. Imogen sighed with annoyance. "It's very rude to follow people around and not introduce yourself," she remarked, inspecting her nails. 

The boy scowled even harder. "You're a mage," he announced abruptly.

"I'm not," Imogen said very quietly and dangerously, her patience near the breaking point.

"You are. How else would you have seen through my invisibility spell? Even Ma can't see me!"

"I am not a mage," Imogen said, still quietly.

"You are so."

"Am not."

"Are so."

"Am not."

"Are so."

"Am _not_."

_"ARE SO!"_

"WHAT IS GOING ON HERE?" a new voice bellowed. Alanna and George had returned, and Imogen could see why the small woman was called the Lioness as she stood in the doorway, hands on hips, glaring at the two opponents.

Imogen opened her mouth to explain, but the strange boy beat her to it. "Ma, she saw through my invisibility spell and she says she's not a mage!"

"That's because I'm not," Imogen explained, the corners of her mouth twitching.

"Are so."

"Am not."

"Are s-"

"Stop it, both of ye," Baron George said, coming into the room and laying a hand on his son's shoulder. "This isn't going to solve anything." He turned to Imogen. "Now, lass, would ye mind explainin' how you could see through that spell? Not even the Lioness could detect it when Thom tested it."

Imogen stared at her lap. "I don't know," she stated truthfully. "I've always been able to see through illusions and suchlike. They just made no sense."

The Lioness looked pensive. "Yet another thing to ask Numair. He has no idea how you got here either, by the way."

Imogen threw up her hands in exasperation. "Lovely," she groaned. "I'm insane, caught in a country where nobody knows what's going on, and I just had an argument with a figment of my imagination."

Thom looked outraged. "I am not a figment of your imagination!"

"Are so."

"Am not."

"Are so."

"Am not."

"Are so."

The Lioness seized Imogen very firmly around the arm. "Come on, young lady," she said through gritted teeth, dragging the girl from the room. "Let's get you cleaned up. Honestly, you two are acting like babies."

As Alanna and Imogen retreated down the hallway, they were pursued by Thom's anguished shout.

**"I AM _NOT!"_**


	4. Who're You?

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Chapter Four: Who're You?

Thank you to all my reviewers! I was getting tired of all of the "I get sucked into Tortall, everyone loves me, I know exactly what's going on and love it, and then I save the world" fictions. The fact is that most people would think themselves either dead or mad if they were told they had just been transported to a world that exists only in books. Be assured that this will be continuing.

"Aaaah," Imogen sighed in ecstasy, sinking into a tub of steaming hot water. "That is just what I needed to get rid of all that dirt." The next few minutes were a flurry of activity as Imogen hurried to scrub every square inch of her body. While attacking the foreign materials in her hair, Imogen began to reflect upon her rather unique situation.

_*Let's see,*_ she thought pensively. _*I'm in a strange country with strange customs in a castle with two adults who have no idea how I got here or what I'm doing. This Numair (whoever he is) obviously has no idea either. There is a very obnoxious boy here who insists I'm a mage (what's a mage?) and who won't take no for an answer. I think I've finally gone around the bend. Yet it all seems so real. Somehow I thought madness would be slightly…well, slightly less logical.* _

Imogen dunked her head under and rinsed the lather and filth from her hair. Only when she was positive that all gunk had been removed did Imogen step out of the tub and look around for the clothing Alanna had brought for her. This took the form of undergarments, plain linen pants, a cotton shirt very similar to her school blouse, and a pale green tunic (A/N: Does anyone know the colors of Pirate's Swoop?). Yanking a brush through her unruly locks, Imogen noticed that her hair was now quite a bit longer than she remembered. She had worn it in a tight bun since she first arrived at Saint Margaret's, but then it had only reached to the middle of her back. Now it was almost past her waist. Looking around for hair ties, Imogen snorted with annoyance when she realized that she had left her pins in George's study. No help for it but to leave her hair loose.

Entering the adjacent bedchamber, Imogen looked around for the first time. The window boasted a magnificent view of the cove beside the Swoop. The bed was in the center of the room, an old-fashioned canopy with surrounding curtains. The stone walls were covered with cheerful tapestries. At the foot of the bed Imogen saw something that she recognized as her school bookbag, looking ridiculously out of place in the elegant room.

Imogen was startled out of her reflection by a knock on the door. When she opened it, she saw the Lioness leaning against the doorframe.

"Lunch is served," the red-haired woman said cheerfully. "Time to meet the rest of my chaotic family." Then she blinked and took a step backwards. "Well," she said approvingly, "that outfit sure suits you better than your old get-up. How do girls in your country _survive_ wearing skirts like that?"

Imogen shrugged, "Beats me," she said, stepping out of her room and closing the door behind her. "I could never see the purpose of it either. However, it was school policy, so I had to go along."

The Lioness grimaced in sympathy. "Speaking of skirts, do you know how to ride horseback?"

Imogen nodded. "I learned when I was eight. We were living in the country then, and all the children rode in their spare time."

"Sidesaddle or straddle?" Alanna asked.

Imogen repressed a shudder. "Straddle. Nobody rides sidesaddle anymore."

Alanna looked intrigued. "Really?" she said curiously and would have asked more if they had not just arrived at the dining hall. Alanna, with a quick glance at Imogen, pushed open the door.

Imogen understood the glance within seconds. Sitting at the table, right in her line of sight, was the annoying red-haired boy. He scowled at her, his wrath apparently unabated. Imogen matched his expression with an equally venomous frown as she took a seat, as far away from Thom as possible.

Suddenly two children, a boy and a girl, came barreling into the dining area at top speed, obviously having run a long distance. They skidded to a stop, panting for breath. "Sorry, Ma and Da. We lost track of the time," the boy said once he could breathe again. "Who are you?" he demanded a moment later, noticing Imogen.

"You're excused, and she's Imogen Darcy," Alanna sighed, looking affectionately at the pair, who were obviously twins and her children.

The two children (Imogen estimated them to be about fourteen) slid into seats at the table. "How'd she get here?" the girl asked, glancing curiously at Imogen.

"I dropped from the sky," Imogen said demurely, a small smile playing at her lips.

"No, really," the boy protested. "How'd you get here?"

"I dropped from the sky," Imogen said again, biting her lip to keep from snorting with laughter.

The twins looked at each other, then at Imogen. "Explain," they demanded in unison.

After a very abridged version of events, the twins were finally satisfied that this stranger that had dropped through their roof was telling the truth. They stared at Imogen with wide eyes. "Goddess," the boy choked out. "Another world? Well, you're certainly not what we would have expected."

Imogen's eyebrows drew together in a frown. "Not what you expected? How so?"

The girl kicked her brother under the table. "Well, we would have expected somebody a little…stranger."

Thom snorted. "She's plenty strange, Alianne. You just don't know it yet."

Imogen closed her eyes and counted to ten, concentrating on controlling the rising tide of anger threatening to engulf her. When she opened her eyes she noticed everyone at the table was staring oddly at her. "What?" she inquired, confused.

"Nothing," the twin boy said. "It's just…here, people have a tendency to just explode when they get angry."

Imogen smiled wryly. "I learned at school it was a bad idea to let my anger get the better of me. I had a tendency to - ahem - throw things at the other girls."

The other girl's lip twitched into a smile. She leaned across the table to grasp Imogen's hand. "I'm Alianne, and I like you," she announced frankly. "Welcome to Pirate's Swoop."

Her twin followed suit. "I'm Alan, and that's Thom," he said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. "I don't think he likes you, but I second Alianne's opinion. Welcome to our insane home." Alan pumped Imogen's hand energetically. 

They were called back to the business of the midday meal by Alanna clearing her throat rather loudly. "Now, if introductions are quite finished, we may proceed to the blessing," she said sternly. Her children and Imogen bowed their heads meekly as she asked the Goddess to bless their food. "Now," the Lioness said, finished, "dig in."

Imogen thought she had never enjoyed a meal so much. For once she didn't have other girls telling her that if she ate that much, she would get fat. The food was delicious, and the twins kept Imogen laughing throughout. In fact, everything was perfect, except for one nagging, ever-present doubt.

*_Am I still sane?*_

****

Next Chapter: More spectacular explosions between Imogen and Thom (they really don't like each other, it's not just pretend), Alan tries to teach Imogen sword-fighting, Numair figures out what's going on, and the peculiar god makes an appearance. It should be up tomorrow!


	5. Forever Is A Long Time

****

Chapter Five: Forever Is A Long Time

Disclaimer: The usual I-own-nothing.

Imogen had been at Pirate's Swoop for two weeks before she finally stopped being surprised at the weird and wacky things surrounding her. She was finally able to understand why such a household could accept a stranger from another world dropping into their woods with so much ease. From what Alianne and Alan had told Imogen of the Immortals War, Tortallans were used to strange creatures that weren't supposed to be there showing up on their doorstep.

Imogen had become close friends with the twins as the two younger children had introduced her to the normal flow of palace life. She loved the way Alianne and Alan were either fiercely defending each other or equally fiercely arguing. Imogen realized early that each of the twins had their own distinct personality. Alianne was impish and quick, a joker to the core. Alan was quieter, the brains behind the mischief operation. He studied people carefully, noted their strengths and weaknesses, and filed away the information for later use.

On the other hand, Imogen did not like Thom at all. Though she had to admit he was very handsome, with his unruly red hair and a smile that would melt the average girl's heart, she was not the average girl. She also thought him a rude, arrogant, self-satisfied, derogatory imbecile. Their fierce arguments every time they met had become the talk of the palace and had grown in fury to the point where Alanna had forbidden them from speaking to each other more than was absolutely necessary at mealtimes.

"I know you two don't like each other, but that's no reason to torture us all with your babyish caterwauling," she had said, glaring at the two combatants.

In fact, it was because of Thom that Imogen was out on the fortifications surrounding Pirate's Swoop, watching the sunlight play across the cove and mulling over Thom's last comment to her.

"You had better learn to defend yourself in case I decide these insults are worthy of a duel," he had whispered dangerously in passing.

Imogen planned to do just that, but there was only one problem: she had never picked up a sword in her life, not even a fencing foil. She was a fair shot with a bow and could give as good as she got in a fistfight, but she knew absolutely nothing about sword fighting.

"Greetings, fair stranger from another land," said a voice behind her, startling her from her reverie. Spinning around, she saw Alan smirking at her, his hair tousled from his morning training session.

All of a sudden it was as though fireworks had gone off in Imogen's brain. Alan spent every morning training with the Lioness. Alan knew how to fight with a sword. Alan was her friend. Alan could teach her.

"Alan, I have a favor to ask," Imogen began. "You see, I need to learn swordplay. Could you teach me?"

Alan's mouth twitched. "My brother annoying you so much that you want to know how to kill him?" he teased. "Rest easy, Imogen, I'll teach you. Though it's going to be an experience teaching somebody two years older than me."

"Thanks, Alan. You're a treasure," Imogen said, standing up.

Alan smirked even more widely. "Let's see if you say that after being thrown around for an hour."

An hour later Imogen, bruised, bashed, and exhausted, made her weary way up to the castle, supported by Alan. True to his word, Alan had bashed Imogen around, which, though very painful, had its uses. She had learned many things _not_ to do, but still didn't have a very clear idea of what she _should_ do. 

Thom and Alianne met them at the door. The girl's eyes were wide as saucers. "Mithros, Alan, what did you do to her?" she breathed. "It looks like you ran her through a clothes-press."

"He's trying to teach me sword fighting," Imogen gasped. "He just whacked me around for upwards of an hour."

Thom whistled in amazement. "You look like raw meat," he informed Imogen bluntly. "I didn't think it was possible for a human being to have so many bruises."

Imogen was too exhausted to do anything other than weakly shake her fist at her arch-nemesis. "I would kill you for that, but I feel like putty," she wheezed.

Alianne grabbed Imogen from the other side. "Come on, crazy one," she said. "Let's get you to your room."

Once Imogen was safely reinstated in her room (she fell asleep on her bed immediately, not even bothering to change from her dusty, sweaty attire) Alianne and Alan left her alone.

"Alan, are you sure she'll be all right?" Alianne asked as soon as the door was closed. "She looked pretty banged up."

Alan shook his head, a smile playing across his lips. "Don't worry, Alianne. She'll be all right. I was just the same after my first day of training. Gods, other than you I've never met a girl like that. I had to outright refuse to whack her again before she'd give in and stop. I pity Thom."

Imogen was awakened two hours later by someone shaking her gently. Groggily opening her eyes, she brushed aside her hair to see Alianne leaning over her. "Get up, Imogen," her friend whispered. "Master Numair's arrived, and he wants to speak to you. He's downstairs with my parents."

Imogen was suddenly wide awake. "Master Numair? Isn't he the man who was supposed to be finding out how I got here?"

Alianne nodded. "Hurry up, sleepy-head. You don't want to keep them waiting."

After Imogen was changed (which took a long time, since she was stiff from all her bruising) Alianne led her down to Lady Alanna's study. Both Baron George and Lady Alanna were there, along with a very tall man with black hair who Imogen assumed to be Master Numair. With an encouraging squeeze and eyes that looked suspiciously wet, Alianne left Imogen to his mercy.

"Ah, here is the culprit," Alanna said cheerfully. "Imogen, this is Master Numair Salmalin. Numair, this is Imogen Darcy."

Imogen inclined her head in acknowledgement and got straight to the point. "Do you know why I'm here and how I got here?

Numair chuckled. "Awfully direct, aren't you? As a matter of fact, I do. You might want to sit down, because it's rather a long story."

"I guess it begins about six thousand years ago. The god Loge, the joker, was getting bored. So many worlds had been created, ruled by so many different gods, and yet they all were separate. Loge decided to open up the gates between the worlds. It was chaos. The inhabitants of each world were mingling with others and it was impossible to keep disease from spreading. Raiders pillaged the lands, not caring whether it was their homeland or another world entirely. The gods were looking at the end of all life in all the worlds. They called a great council to decide what to do. Loge fought against it, but the gods decided to seal the gates. However, they could not disregard completely the wishes of one of their own, so they made a special deal for Loge - one mortal was to be exchanged between the worlds every three hundred years."

Imogen closed her eyes. "Me," she said simply.

Numair nodded. "You," he confirmed. "You arrived in Tortall on March 19, and three hundred years ago, a young boy disappeared from Tortall on March 19. It was a fair exchange, one of ours for one of yours."

"How do I get back?" Imogen asked, a feeling of dread building in her stomach.

The mage's eyes filled with sympathy. "My dear, Loge's transfers are permanent," he said gently. "You can't go back."

Imogen would never know exactly how she managed to get back to her room. She lay on her bed, the mage's words ringing in her head over and over. "Permanent…can't go back…permanent…can't go back…permanent." She had expected her stay in Tortall to be long, but _forever?_

****

*You disgusting god,* she thought savagely at Loge. ***Mucking around with people's lives as though they're your playthings.***

*But they are* a voice said in her head. **They are my playthings**

In her mind's eye, Imogen saw Loge, with his orange hair and green robes. **They are not,** she hissed. **A human life is not a toy of any, even a god. You foul deity, didn't you stop to consider the consequences of your actions? I thought I was mad. I could have been killed or imprisoned.**

But you weren't, the god said **You are safe. And do not lie to yourself, mortal. I saved you. You are happier here than you have ever been since you became an orphan. I brought you to a new life. You had no ties to Earth, no regrets, nothing to leave behind. Search your heart and your memory. What do you miss?**

No, Imogen sobbed, **No, stop, stop!** She covered her eyes, but it was no good. In her head a progression of her most recent Earth memories began to play. She saw her parents lying dead in their coffins at their funeral, their graves with the plain white headstones. She saw the other girls taunting her, Belinda rummaging through her belongings, the torment, pain and unhappiness of her life at Saint Margaret's.

****

What do you miss? the god insisted**.**

Nothing! Imogen mentally shrieked at Loge.** Nothing! Leave me be!**

With a breath of wind, the god's presence was gone. Imogen fell face forwards on her bed, shaken by terrible, racking, gasping sobs.

Even if you have nothing to miss, forever is a long time.

****

And there it is, Chapter Five. It ends on a more serious note than the other chapters, but don't worry, Imogen will recover. She's a very resilient character. And a note to all Thom lovers - he will stop being such a pain soon. He plays a rather large part in later chapters. Goodbye, and I'll post again as soon as I possibly can.


	6. Dying Is Very Annoying

****

Chapter Six:

M'cha, you're right. Imogen and Thom are acting very childish. Just for the record, Imogen and Thom are both seventeen and the twins are fifteen. As for the "hate is akin to love," I don't know! It could go either way. One thing is certain, they can't hate each other forever, because how long could someone logically live in a house with a person he or she hated? 

Jip: Aaah! Plot hole! Numair found out from an old reference book, for the record. I don't know how I could have neglected to include that. I actually did write that in one of my copies, so this isn't just spur-of-the-moment invention.

In this chapter Imogen does something very, very stupid. And no, I don't own this.

It was late April and, wonder of wonders, it was hot. Not just pleasantly warm but terribly, grillingly, scorchingly hot. To Imogen, native of the moderate climate of Victoria, British Columbia, it felt as though a furnace had been set up in the middle of Pirate's Swoop.

Yes, Imogen was still at Pirate's Swoop. After Numair's announcement that she could never go back home, she had tried to look at things objectively. It was necessary to make the best life possible for herself in Tortall, and that meant staying where she was happy. Alanna and her family obviously liked Imogen, and Imogen liked them. Numair had kindly extended an invitation for Imogen to travel to the palace with him, but Imogen turned it down. She didn't think she could live in a city for very long, much less a palace.

She was even learning to live with Thom. They had discovered a very good way to avoid all major injuries – ignore each other whenever possible. Their highly volatile arguments had become few and far between, but were liable to flare up without any warning, such as right now.

The subject was, as usual, Imogen's Gift or lack thereof. Master Numair had searched her for any sign of magical ability and proclaimed that she had truthsense to a very advanced degree, but no other unusual ability. Thom insisted this made her a mage, and Imogen just as stubbornly insisted it did not. Deep down inside Imogen knew that Thom was at least partly right, but she stuck to her opinion like glue. Imogen knew she was being childish, but clinging to her Giftless state was like clinging to the last shred of her Earthly heritage. She felt that to admit she had even a partial Gift would be to forsake Earth forever.

"For the last time, I don't have the Gift," Imogen shrieked, her eyes blazing.

"You do, you do, you're just being stubborn," Thom said through gritted teeth. "Admit it, you're afraid of the Gift."

"I am not!" Imogen protested, all the more vehement because it was true. "I am not afraid of your precious Gift. I just don't have it."

Thom threw up his hands. "You're impossible," he sighed, storming off.

Imogen glared after him. _*Why does he care if I have the Gift or not?*_ She wondered, confused. Then she spun around. "Argh," she moaned. "It's too hot to think. I need to go for a walk."

Experience had taught Imogen that Pirate's Swoop was a rather stifling home in hot weather. The inhabitants usually spent the summer months outside whenever possible. Most went swimming in the cove. However, Imogen wasn't a very strong swimmer, and there could be a fierce undertow in the cove, so she usually contented herself with dumping buckets of water over her head and dangling her feet in the water. She had claimed a special rock near the south side of the cove as her favorite seat.

That was where Imogen went to cool of after her battle with Thom. Like the rest of the manor house, she went barefoot, so she had no aversion to getting her feet wet. Flopping down on the rock, she sighed heavily. Thom was being such an exasperating idiot. Why couldn't he just leave her in peace?

Imogen closed her eyes against the glare of the sun. The air was heavy, still, and hot, pressing down on her like a lead weight. In the distance she could hear the sounds drifting from the Swoop. No matter how hot it was, life had to go on.

Half-asleep, Imogen rolled over, forgetting her precarious position perched on the rock. With a tremendous splash and a terrified shriek she rolled right off the rock and into the deep sapphire water, knocking her head in the process.

Right away Imogen knew she was in trouble. The water here was very deep, the rocks very slippery, and she didn't know how to swim. Frantically she scrabbled at her former perch, desperately trying to find some sort of handhold but only succeeding in pushing herself further from safety. Imogen tried to scream, but water flooded her lungs. Coughing and spluttering, she forced her way to the surface, flailing her arms, only to sink down again. Imogen was fighting desperately, but she knew she would lose. Eventually the water would close over her head and seal her under the waves forever. She felt almost amused. How ironic, to drown in plain sight just because nobody happened to be looking.

She fought on. Imogen didn't know how long she had been in the water, sinking below the surface and forcing her way back up before she began to tire. Weakly her arms flailed as the water closed over her head one last time. There would be no escape this time. No matter how long she held her breath, soon she would black out and water would flood her lungs. A feeling of peace stole over her as she heard what sounded like sweet voices singing.

__

*If this is dying, it's not so bad,* she thought drowsily as her eyes closed for the last time

**__**

Stupid mortal, said a familiar, unwelcome voice. **I did not bring you to Tortall just to drown. What do you mean by this outrage?**

It's not like I had much choice, Imogen retorted, opening her eyes to face Loge. She noticed detachedly that she didn't seem to be drowning anymore. **A person dies when they die. I can't help it that I don't know how to swim.**

Loge looked exasperated. **This ruins all my fun,** he sighed. **Did I wait three hundred years just to bring a mortal with no courtesy here and watch her die?**

It's your fault, Imogen said, nettled. **I didn't ask to come here. **

The god scratched his orange hair. **I will have to send you back,** he informed Imogen. **The Graveyard Hag has given me permission.**

Wonderful, Imogen said, annoyed. **More godly stuff done without my permission.** Then she eyed Loge with amusement. **You might want to work on your fashion sense,** she told him with a grin. **Orange and green don't look very good together.**

Get out of here, mortal, Loge said with a sigh.

Imogen regained consciousness slowly. The first thing she did was roll onto her side and expel what felt like half the water in the cove. Her lungs ached like someone had just pounded them with a sledgehammer. She looked up to see Alanna leaning over her while George, Thom, Alianne, Alan, and a fair proportion of the villagers all stared at her.

"Gods curse it," Imogen groaned. "I died, didn't I?"

****

There it is! I know the Imogen-nearly-dying thing was a little far-fetched, but I wanted to work it in somehow. Next chapter we learn how Imogen got out of the water, and the residents of Pirate's Swoop get a special invitation!

Also, a reader survey. Do people think that: 

A: Imogen should end up with Thom?

B: Imogen should end up with someone else?

C: Imogen should end up with nobody at all?

Suggestions for any non-Imogen pairings people would like to see are welcome also!

Just in case people are wondering, Thom is worried that Imogen is running around with an untrained Gift, which is why he keeps nagging her about it. Imogen does not have the Gift, and her truthsense doesn't play a very large part in this fic.


	7. The Consequences of Dying

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Chapter 7: The Consequences of Dying

Sorry, dear readers, for my week of neglect. Here's the next installment. I have exams all next week, so wish me luck. Oh, the overwhelming victor of the survey was option A. The majority of readers think it's Thom or nobody. This is rather a boring chapter, but it had to be done.

Evidently that was not the response that Alanna had been anticipating. She stared at Imogen, her mouth working soundlessly. "I spend my energy trying to pump all that fluid out of your lungs and all you can say is you died? the Lioness finally spluttered. "Imogen, you terrified us out of our wits! What possessed you to go swimming? If Thom hadn't come running in, screaming that you were drowning, you would have stayed dead –"

"Wait a minute," Imogen interrupted, her head ringing. She couldn't have heard correctly. "_Thom_ told you I was drowning? As in my worst enemy, who hates me and wants me dead? That Thom?"

The Lioness scowled. "What other Thom is there?" she would have gone on further if Imogen hadn't done something very humiliating, something she had never done in her life before.

She fainted.

* * *

This time Imogen didn't regain consciousness slowly. Her eyes snapped open as though propelled by springs. She was in her own room and, judging by the quality of the light, it was early evening. "Loge, you have a lot of explaining to do," she groaned.

There was a snort from beside her. "No more than you do," a familiar voice retorted. "And who in Mithros' name is Loge?"

Imogen turned her head on the pillow. "Oh, it's you," she said expressionlessly. "What are you doing here?"

Thom scowled. "Ma's making us sit shifts until you wake up," he explained. "It's my turn."

Ah," Imogen said. A moment later, "I suppose you expect a fervent expression of my eternal gratitude."

"Don't bother," the boy said dryly. "I'd probably die from shock."

Imogen regarded Thom thoughtfully. He was her enemy, but he had also saved her life. Why?

Ever direct, she asked him straight out. "Why did you bother to save me? You hate me, I hate you, and I thought you would be perfectly happy to shove me off the nearest cliff."

Thom shrugged. "Maybe I was temporarily insane."

Imogen snorted. "Temporarily insane? I thought you were permanently off your rocker. But seriously, why did you save me?"

Thom looked uncomfortable. "I can't watch anyone die in front of my nose, not even you, royal pain that you are."

"I'm touched," Imogen said sarcastically.

"Mithros, Minos, and Shakith, you two are actually having a civil conversation?" a new voice broke in. Alanna was standing in the doorway looking flabbergasted. "I didn't think it was possible."

Imogen made a face at the woman. "He _did_ save my life," she reminded Alanna. "I owe him at least that much."

Alanna raised her eyebrows but chose to remain silent. "You," she said, pointing to Thom. "Out."

The redheaded boy made a face but complied with his mother's command. Halfway out the door he hesitated and turned back to face Imogen. "By the way, I wouldn't have pushed you off a cliff," he said, a demonic glint in his eye. "Not nearly creative enough. Feeding you to the sharks bit by bit would be better."

"_OUT!_" Alanna bellowed.

************************************************************************

"Now what could this be?" Alanna wondered aloud, waving a parchment envelope as she strode in. "It bears the royal seal and just arrived by messenger from Corus. I hope Jon isn't ordering me back to his stupid, idiotic, pointless Royal Progress."

It was a week since Imogen's escapade in the cove, and life in the Swoop had returned to normal, or as normal as it ever got in that household. There were only a few differences. After learning that Imogen didn't know how to swim, the twins had undertaken to teach her as soon as she got over her initial fear of water. It was still hard for Imogen to so much look at the cove without shuddering. Also, Thom and Imogen had called a truce. Though their arguments were still as frequent and explosive as before, they were now civil to each other between times. They weren't exactly friends, but it was a step.

Now Alanna was opening the envelope. It was on official Royal Stationary, with the coat of arms emblazoned on it, marking it as something serious, not just a casual note (it had taken Imogen a while to understand that Alanna and the monarchs were on first-name terms). Alanna glanced over the paper and snorted. "Should have guessed," she said. "It's an invitation to Roald and Shinko's wedding, with _this_ enclosed." She waved a piece of ordinary paper that had fallen out of the invitation.

__

Alanna (it read)_,_

I know you don't want to come, but you are, and that's an order. You are the King's Champion after all. Bring your family and your peculiar guest. Jonathan and I are most anxious to meet her. We expect to see you in Corus as soon as possible (this means next week),

Regards,

Thayet

"Well, that just about settles it," Alanna said, biting her thumb. Suddenly she grinned, looking at Imogen. "Be prepared, peculiar guest," she said. "You get your first taste of real court life. Ah, balls, dress fittings, gossip, dress fittings, more balls, more dress fittings, more gossip…"

"Oh joy," Imogen groaned. "I can hardly wait. I _hate_ formal clothing."

****

I'm sorry to all who thought that Imogen and Thom should stay hating each other, but logically, how long could you stand living with someone you hated, even if you liked the rest of the family? This still doesn't mean Imogen will end up with Thom, though! Remember, they still argue and they're still not exactly friends!


	8. To Corus We Shall Go...

****

Chapter 8: To Corus We Shall Go…

It hath arrived! First, I wish it to be understood that Imogen is not going to be paired with the dustbunny under her bed (see reviews if confused). Nor is there going to be Daine/Numair action. My apologies to all Immortals fans, but I'm not overly fond of Daine and I hate sappiness. Warning: hints of Thom/Imogen! I'm still not saying if that's what I'm doing, though! The census seems undeniably in favor of that pairing, however.

D'you honestly think any of this, besides Imogen and the plot, is mine? If so, I'm touched, but give the credit to Tamora Pierce.

It took a surprisingly short time for the Pirate's Swoop crowd to get underway. Because it was the Crown Prince's wedding, nobody brought many clothes, since they would be expected to have new ones made in the latest fashion. Imogen was not looking forward to this. He mother had previously had to force her to wear dresses on the occasions when they were required, and a year of having to wear a skirt every day at Saint Margaret's hadn't helped. Imogen loved the freedom given to her by the breeches and tunics she now wore and did not want to give it up again for the fashions of the day. Consequently, she was in a rather foul mood.

"Gods-cursed King Jonathan," she muttered, dragging her bag behind her as she trudged down to the stables. "Gods-cursed dresses, gods-cursed balls, gods-cursed Corus, gods-cursed royal wedding, gods-cursed god…"

"Technically, gods can't curse themselves," Thom said helpfully from his perch on the fence railing. He was carrying a bag too. "You're just like Ma, hating all formalities. Aren't you even a bit excited to see what the capital is like?"

Imogen glowered at him, at this moment hating every inch of the lanky redhead in front of her. "Not if it means wearing a dress," she said darkly. "I hate dresses. They look nice, but they feel stupid and they're very impractical. You can't do anything when you have an ankle-length sheet of cloth wrapped around you."

"I wouldn't know," Thom said cheerfully. "Hurry up, Ma's waiting for you. She wants to see if you like the horse she picked for you."

To Imogen's extreme delight, she was not going to be arriving in Corus on some ladylike palfrey. Alanna had chosen a spirited buckskin mare by the name of Calypso, a steady mount but with enough fire and character to make her an interesting ride. Imogen's bag was slung onto one of the packhorses along with the baggage of the rest of the family. The journey to Corus would take five days, according to Alanna, and they would be camping under the stars each night. At Alanna's command, the train swung into action.

Imogen had never ventured very far outside the confines of the manor. After her disastrous tangle with the Queen's Riders, she had been rather wary of the surrounding countryside. However, riding with Alanna and company, she discovered it to be a very beautiful place. She felt very safe traveling under the banner of the Lioness Rampant. Nobody would dare challenge them when they flew the red and gold standard of the King's Champion.

To Imogen's extreme surprise, Thom seemed to spend a lot of time riding with her. At first she was very cautious, suspecting him to have some trick up his sleeve, but eventually she found she could forget her wariness and truly relax. The day was warm, the birds were singing, and she could always clout Thom in the eye if he tried anything. The duo spent a lot of time discussing Corus, the royal palace, and what could be expected when they arrived there. Thom, being the Lioness' eldest son and heir, had much experience with the court.

"There'll probably be some old conservatives clucking over the disgrace to the realm, allowing women to become knights," he said glumly. "We'll be expected to bow and scrape and act polite." Suddenly he grinned. "You'll probably be pinched and poked and dragged off to some room for cross-examination by the King's security board. Then they'll hand you over to the ladies, who'll gape at you like an exhibition in a menagerie. They'll wonder if your hair really is naturally that pale, and why you aren't engaged yet."

"Engaged?" Imogen shrieked in horror. "_Engaged?_ I'm seventeen, for heaven's sake! Mother didn't get married until she was twenty-five!" Calypso shifted under her rider, uncomfortable with the unexpected noise.

Thom was smirking now. "Most girls at court are either engaged or married by your age," he explained, eyes glinting wickedly. 

Imogen gaped at him. "What kind of society is this?" she spluttered. "I'm not even considered an adult where I come from."

Thom shrugged. "Just thought you'd want to be prepared," he said wickedly.

Imogen snorted in disbelief. "Prepared, my foot. You wanted to see my response. Well, your lordship, are you satisfied?"

Thom gave up trying to suppress his amusement. "Very," he admitted. "You have most fascinating reactions to things. Riding with you is an adventure."

"Is that why you're with me so much?" Imogen demanded. "I'm an adventure?"

Thom grinned again. "Nope," he said. "I'm doing it to torment Alianne. She thinks I'm in love with you."

Imogen's jaw dropped for the second time in ten minutes. "_What?_" she spluttered, absolutely poleaxed. "You're not, are you?"

"'Course not," Thom said, smirking, "but she thinks I am." Seeing the disbelieving expression on Imogen's face, he added, "See for yourself. The moment I move away, she'll be up here trying to convince you that you're in love with me too." With that he rode ahead to join up with his parents.

True to her brother's prediction, Alianne moved up to take his place. "You and Thom are getting along very well now," she said slyly.

"Don't even think of it, Alianne," Imogen said, glaring at her younger friend. "_I am not in love with your brother_."

Alianne shrugged, her expression suspiciously innocent. "Did I say you were?" she said, eyes wide. "Still, you have to admit, you would have a rather interesting marriage…"

"Alianne," Imogen said warningly, mentally sighing. Was every member of this family slightly insane? "Did you forget that a week ago we couldn't speak to each other without screaming?"

"Love works wonders," Alianne said, a mock-dreamy expression on her face.

"Oh, shut up," Imogen said in disgust. Ignoring her friend's giggles she spurred Calypso ahead, only stopping to inform Thom he had been right. It was going to be a long five days…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Beautiful," Imogen said in awe, gazing at the city below her. "Just beautiful." After days of steady traveling, the Pirate's Swoop band had finally arrived at the hill overlooking Corus. It was Imogen's first glimpse of the city, and she was struck almost speechless by the flawless white of the palace, topping the city like a royal crown (ironic but appropriate, Imogen thought).

Alanna smiled at the girl. "It _is_ overwhelming at first," she said. "The palace is hopelessly confusing, with passages that lead where they're not supposed to, or nowhere at all. Be prepared to get lost a lot."

Imogen made a face as the company set off again. She had to admit, she was looking forward to her visit to Corus, dress fittings, balls, and all. Alanna had promised her lessons in the palace training yards, and introductions to all the knights at court. Maybe Corus wouldn't kill her after all…

When Alanna's party arrived at the gate, the guardsmen's eyes almost bugged out, and Imogen couldn't blame them. Alanna knew how to make an entrance in style. She was dressed in her colors of red and gold, with her Lioness Rampant banner and shield prominently displayed. George, Thom, Alan, Alianne, and the soldiers all wore the brown and gold of Pirate's Swoop, with the exception of Imogen. In her pale green and gold with her sun-bleached hair gleaming in the mid-day sun, she looked conspicuously different from the redheads surrounding her. Since she got as many gaping stares as the Lioness, she assumed the news of her unceremonious arrival in Tortall had spread to the capital. Also there was the fact that, though there were three females in the party, none wore skirts or rode sidesaddle.

"Could you please stop gawking long enough to let us in?" Alanna inquired irately. "We've been riding for five days and everyone's exhausted." She wiped her sweaty forehead with her sleeve and added, "Plus it's broiling out here."

Still staring, the guards hurried to open the gates for the King's Champion. The cavalcade rode through, heading towards the palace. Imogen stared straight ahead, trying to ignore the whispers behind her.

"Did you see the fair-haired one? She's not Tortallan, not even from this world…"

"Captain says she's a demon…"

__

*Gods*, Imogen thought._ *How am I expected to fit in here if they think of me as something evil?*_

However, once inside the city gates Imogen had too much to think about to worry about the opinions of guardsmen. Corus was a whirlwind of sound and color, with hawkers and peddlers displaying their wares and yelling for the travelers to come buy. By grace of the Lioness banner, the party was allowed clear passage to the castle, meaning they got to the palace gates much sooner than they would have if they had been forced to push through the crowds in the marketplace.

The guards on the palace wall were much better trained than those on the city walls. They didn't gawk and whisper at the passing company, something Imogen was profoundly grateful for. She felt conspicuous enough as it was.

As Alanna dismounted by the stable, a stocky man came hurrying out. "Stefan!" Alanna exclaimed, her joy obvious.

"So ye're back, lady Lioness," the man said, bobbing respectfully. "And the young 'uns," he added, smiling at the twins and Thom, who beamed back. His eyes came to rest on Imogen, who had swung down from Calypso's back and was holding her reins loosely, feeling oddly excluded. "You'll be the new lass," he said, nodding. "Welcome to Corus, your ladyship."

Imogen smiled, glad that he was treating her like any other new arrival. "Thank you," she said, the golden swirls in her green eyes sparkling, "but I'm not a lady. I'm just Imogen."

"Well, Lady Imogen, then, I'd best be taking your horse."

Shaking her head in amusement at the compromise, Imogen relinquished Calypso's reins. She'd have to get used to being called a lady.

"Alanna!" another voice shouted. "You're back!" The tallest, broadest man Imogen had ever seen swept the Lioness up into a tight embrace.

"Raoul of Goldenlake, let me go this instant!" Alanna commanded, laughing. "You're as hopelessly large as ever."

The tall man grinned, his black eyes sparkling. "Just pleased to have you home again. Hello, Thom. Still practicing spells? Good. And you, George. Black God, you two ruffians have grown. And you must be Lady Imogen." Raoul extended his hand in greeting.

Imogen took it. "Drop the 'Lady' and you've got it just about right," she said wryly. "I hate titles. And forgive the bluntness, but who exactly are you?"

The man pushed his tightly-curling hair out of his eyes. "Sir Raoul of Goldenlake and Mallory's Peak, Knight Commander of the King's Own."

"Ah. Alanna talks a lot about you." Imogen would have said more, but they were interrupted yet again.

"Alanna!" A chestnut-haired man, almost as large as Raoul, came charging down the path. Imogen mentally sighed. This could go on for a while.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

That night Imogen lay sleepless in her bed in the palace for a long time, thinking. Her afternoon in Corus had been primarily spent being introduced to all Alanna and George's acquaintances. The Lioness had said that tomorrow she would be introduced informally to the royal family. Strangely this didn't worry the girl. They were only people, after all.

What kept Imogen awake was something that had hit her today out of the blue as she was being introduced to Geoffrey of Meron. She no longer thought longingly of "home" when she was lonely or sad.

Somehow, when she wasn't looking, Tortall had turned into her home.

And that scared her.


	9. The Art of Greeting Royalty

****

Chapter 9: The Art of Greeting Royalty

Imogen's first day at court! Nothing much happens in this chapter, but it provides a foundation for coming scenes.

Nothing is mine, etc., etc.

The morning after her arrival in Corus, Imogen got up early. The sun was just peeking through her wide-open bedroom shutters as she yawned and stretched, reaching for the breeches she had laid out the night before. Coiling her long hair into a knot at the nape of her neck with the ease of long practice, Imogen glanced around her room for the last time and headed out to the practice courts. Maybe a good workout would banish those nagging, fearsome thoughts lurking in the depths of her brain. Alanna had shown her the practice courts the day before, and Imogen was dying to stretch her tense muscles after the long ride.

The courts were deserted when Imogen arrived. Since it was well before breakfast time the pages hadn't begun their day's training yet. Imogen was profoundly grateful. She didn't want to be practicing with an audience. She vaulted over the fence and walked to the middle of one of the courts.

Her routine was rather unusual. Though Alan still was instructing the older girl in the rudiments of sword-fighting, she had discovered that she was reverting more and more to her mother's training in acrobatics. Alan had been astounded at her flexibility in evading attacks through sheer agility, instead of blocking the strikes as he was attempting to teach her. 

After warming up by stretching all her major muscles in turn, Imogen opened her morning routine with a series of easy cartwheels. Gradually the movements became more and more difficult. Imogen was balancing on her hands, trying to stay upright for as long as possible when she realized she had an audience. Flipping upright, she brushed stray tendrils of hair off her forehead as she surveyed her company.

One of the two men she recognized instantly – Sir Raoul. The other man, tall with chestnut hair, was one of Alanna's friends whose name escaped the girl at the moment. With them was a short woman who Imogen had never seen before.

"Hello, Imogen" Sir Raoul hailed cheerily. "You're up early."

Imogen smiled. She liked the jolly knight commander. "I have to be," she called back, walking over to the fence. "Alanna keeps me hopping. Early mornings are the only time I have to myself."

The chestnut-haired man chuckled. "That's our Lioness for you. I'm Gareth the Younger of Naxen, by the way, and this is Buriram Tourakom, commander of the Queen's Riders."

"I've heard of you from Evin Larse, Lady Imogen," the woman said dryly. "He never quite forgot the girl who swore at him so fluently." Sir Raoul snorted.

Imogen smiled wryly, hoisting herself up onto the top railing of the fence. "I lost my temper," she explained. "I didn't have any idea what was going on, and I thought I was going mad. Plus it's not very conductive of good relations to be accused of spying when all you're doing is sleeping in the middle of a seemingly deserted wood. And _please_ don't call me Lady Imogen, unless you want me to call _you_ Lady Buriram." 

Raoul almost choked with laughter at the expression on the woman's face. "Please don't," the commander said hurriedly. "I'll call you Imogen only if you call me Buri. And stop snickering, you great lug," she snapped good-naturedly at the gasping Knight Commander.

Imogen grinned. "It's a deal, Buri." The two females shook hands. "Now, is there any particular reason you're watching me flip around the practice yards? I can't see how it would be very interesting."

"Actually, Raoul and I were wondering if you could teach us some of those fancy flips you were practicing. In our line of work we can never be agile enough, and you look very limber."

Imogen hesitated, chewing her lip. Would they, two powerful commanders, obey her, a mere girl and a stranger at that? Coming to a decision, she said, "I will, as long as you promise to do what I tell you. My teacher didn't have to punish me when I disobeyed. The bruises were deterrent enough."

Imogen's two future pupils grinned at her. "We learn early to obey orders as well as give them," Raoul explained. "Now, what do we do first…?"

When the pages came barreling out of the mess hall, the leaders halted in absolute shock, causing a pile-up of confused pages. When their teachers came to sort out the mess, they too stared in astonishment.

The commander of the Queen's Riders and the Knight Commander of the King's Own were turning cartwheels in the practice yards under the supervision of a slim, pale-haired girl sitting on the fence directing them like a drill sergeant.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Remind me again," Imogen said, yanking a brush through her unruly hair. "Precisely why do the royal family want to meet me?"

Alanna sighed. "They want to meet you because you're the only person ever recorded who dropped through the sky into Tortall," she said patiently. "They have many questions for you, and also they want to make sure you're safe."

Imogen snorted, abandoning the brush and starting to deftly plait her hair. "Why wouldn't I be safe? I accomplish absolutely nothing by assassinating the royal family, except maybe earning myself an untimely death."

Alanna chose to ignore this. "There is also the matter of your truthsense. There hasn't been a truthsayer born in Tortall for centuries. Master Numair wishes to test you for more information regarding why this art has disappeared within our borders."

"Test me? As though I'm an inanimate object or a lab animal?" Imogen shrieked, indignant. 

"He's only going to question you, and ask your permission before trying any experiments."

Moaning slightly, Imogen stood up. Because she was going to meet the royal family, she couldn't go in wearing her regular rough-and-tumble clothing. However, she had flat-out refused to wear a dress if she didn't absolutely have to, so she compromised. From Alianne she had borrowed a pair of breeches (brown and gold to show her allegiance to Baron George) with extra-wide legs so that she still appeared to be wearing skirts but had freedom of motion. She also borrowed a simple blouse and an embroidered vest in the colors of Pirate's Swoop. After lengthening everything (Imogen was three inches taller than her younger friend), the girl was ready to meet the monarchs. 

Alanna surveyed her critically, then smiled. "Very nice," she said approvingly. "You could pass for a real Tortallan girl, dressed like that."

Imogen smiled wryly. "That's until they hear me talk," she said. "I quite shocked someone today when I asked why there were no girls training with the pages. One of the spectators walked away muttering something about the 'stupid progressives'."

Alanna chuckled. "It's good for them to be shaken up like that," she said, slinging an arm around Imogen's shoulders and leading her out the door. "There's no reason why girls shouldn't become knights. Sir Keladry and I are proof of that."

Imogen smiled at her friend. "You're the embodiment of one of my mother's favorite sayings. Whenever I would complain about something I didn't like, she would tell me, "Ask why it has to be like that. Then change it." She hurriedly suppressed the pang she always felt when thinking or speaking of her mother. That wound was still very fresh. Alanna looked curiously at her, but Imogen was spared the pain of further inquiries by the duo's arrival at the doors of the royal chambers. Alanna patted Imogen comfortingly on the shoulder and then ushered her into the room.

The first thing Imogen noticed is that the entire royal family had black hair. The second thing was that they were all exceedingly tall. Finally, they were all staring at her. That was when Imogen realized she hadn't a clue what she was supposed to do when greeting royalty.

__

*This is what comes of living in a democracy*, she thought disgustedly. Aloud she said, "If you're expecting me to curtsey, you're in for a disappointment. I don't know how. And am I supposed to address you as 'Your Majesties'?"

Everyone blinked at her in unison. They looked so bizarrely flabbergasted at her nerve that Imogen barely managed to hide her grin. Finally the man she assumed was the king spoke up.

"You could just call us King Jonathan and Queen Thayet, if you want. And a bow would be quite acceptable."

Imogen was feeling difficult. "Ah, but that is forbidden by the Ten Commandments," she said wisely. "Commandment Number Two, if I am not mistaken. 'Thou shalt not bow down to any man, beast, or graven image, but only the Lord thy God' is the gist of it, I believe." This time she snorted inelegantly at their expressions. 

A tall, bald man with a scar running across his cheek hissed at her, "Girl, don't you know how to treat your monarchs with respect?"

Imogen surveyed him from head to toe, one eyebrow raised. "But they're not my monarchs," she said coolly. "I have no monarchs. I haven't sworn allegiance to them, and if this is how royalty greet their guests, I don't think I'm ever going to either."

The entire room stared at her, mouths gaping, before the tableau was broken by a soft sound. Imogen glanced over at the royal dais.

The queen was laughing. Thayet was rocking back and forth in her chair, tears of mirth running down her cheeks. Every so often she would attempt to compose herself, only to dissolve into giggles again. Behind her, Imogen could see the girl who appeared to be the eldest princess was also fighting an attack of the giggles. Even some of the royal advisors were concealing smiles behind their hands.

This time Imogen raised both eyebrows. "I'm glad I'm so amusing," she said, her own mouth twitching.

Gradually the queen was able to bring herself under control. "Oh, I haven't laughed so hard in ages," she said, wiping tears from her face. "Thank you, Imogen. I think we needed that. Sorry for standing on ceremony like that. I never saw a person talk back to Jon quite like that, not even Alanna."

Imogen smiled at the queen. "Sorry. In Canada there is no monarchy, only elected officials, so I didn't quite know how to address you. Then you started acting like conceited idiots (pardon me), and I was in a bad mood to begin with. I _hate_ formality."

The queen grimaced sympathetically. "I understand," she said. "I'm Thayet, as you have probably guessed, and this is King Jonathan. And here we have Crown Prince Roald, Princess Kalasin, our eldest daughter, Prince Liam, Princess Lianne, and Prince Jasson."

This time Imogen bowed. The crown prince appeared to be about twenty, tall, dark-haired, with solemn eyes. Princess Kalasin, a year or two older than Imogen, was the one who had giggled. She was also tall and black-haired, but her blue eyes sparkled with fun. Prince Liam was shorter than his older brother and his eyes were hazel. He was around Imogen's own age. Princess Lianne was quieter than her sister but her features radiated stubbornness. She was not a person you would want to mess with. Prince Jasson, the youngest, looked to be about thirteen, mischievous and full of fun. King Jonathan was very handsome indeed, with his black hair and beard offset by his brilliant sapphire eyes. Imogen pitied the females at court. They never really got a chance. Thayet clearly deserved the title of "most beautiful woman in the world." As well as beauty, her hazel eyes radiated the same sense of humor Imogen felt in such great amounts from Kalasin and Jasson. 

Now the King, over his initial shock, smiled at Imogen. "Introductions are complete, so would you please sit down?" he said, gesturing to a chair placed in front of the royal dais. "My advisors have a few questions they would like to ask…"

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Three hours later Imogen emerged from the royal wing. _*Thank heavens that's over with,* _she thought in relief. _*Being grilled on the political and militaristic structure of Canada is not on my list of favorite activities, besides the fact that I'm no expert in any case.*_

Alanna and her family were waiting just outside. Thom stared at her in mock-amazement. "Congratulations," he said, shaking her hand. "You survived the fate of being bored to death."

Imogen rolled her eyes. "Just barely. Honestly, couldn't those dried-up prunes (pardon me, Alanna) think up even remotely interesting questions for me? And they seemed quite amazed when I told them that in Canada we're ruled by elected Parliament, not a King determined by heredity." Seeing George's interested expression, she hurriedly added, "Don't ask right now. My mind has been so completely picked over that I don't want to think of anything related to politics."

Alanna grinned wickedly and Imogen knew she had said something exceedingly stupid. "We have just the activity to relieve your boredom," the Lioness said sarcastically. She paused dramatically. "Dress fittings!"

Imogen groaned, clutching her head. "I think I'd rather be questioned for another three hours." She turned around and would have marched right back into the council chamber if Alanna hadn't grabbed her wrist.

"Oh no you don't, missy. If I have to do this, you have to do it. Come on."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lalasa's dress shop was swamped with orders for the wedding, but no shop was so busy that it wouldn't accept business from the Lioness and her family. Seamstresses were made available to the members of Alanna's party immediately. Imogen was squeezed and pinched and poked and measured until she thought she would scream. And then it was time to look at styles.

"Spare me," Imogen groaned, looking through the book of styles presented to her. "I have no fashion sense at all." She shoved it towards Katya, Lalasa's assistant and the girl who had been assisting her. "You pick. You must be very experienced in these matters."

Pursing her lips, the other girl surveyed Imogen from top to toe. "Something simple," she decided. "You have the kind of build that doesn't take frills well. Probably three dresses for everyone. For you, two pale colors and a warm one. One should definitely be green and gold, because of your eyes. Ice blue would go well, too. And for the warm color, probably bronze to accent your hair." 

"Whatever you say," Imogen agreed, sighing in relief. _*I probably would have agreed if she had suggested florescent orange,* _she realized, a smile tugging at her lips. She glanced over at Alanna and almost choked on her suppressed laughter. The Lioness looked like she would happily murder all within the dress shop and then torch all the cloth to finish the deed.

"Thank heavens that's over," the Lioness moaned half an hour later. "Dress fittings are so incredibly boring. Now we can do something interesting. What about a trip to the palace archery yards?"

An hour later Imogen crept back to her room, nursing her sore arm muscles. Alanna had not been satisfied with her archery skills until she could hit the target eight times out of ten. Needless to say, this had not done much for Imogen's muscles, still stiff from the long trip. She flopped down on her bed and gazed up at the moving shadows on the canopy overhead. _*I wonder what other surprises Corus has in store for me.*_


	10. The Dancing Dove

****

Chapter 10: The Dancing Dove

Chapter 10 already! Thank you to all my kind reviewers. There are just a few matters I would like to clear up. First, Canadians do recognize the British monarchs, but I don't really think of Queen Elizabeth as my ruler. She's not really involved in the political workings of Canada. Second, I AM ALBERTAN! I may currently be living in British Columbia for a year but at heart I still belong to Alberta. And if you still think you know me, my email is in my profile. These last two comments were directed at that person who reviewed with the single letter "g".

And now, I present to you…THE STORY!

Imogen sighed drearily, gazing at the rain dripping down the windowpane. She had been at the palace a little over a week and she was _bored. _It was pouring rain, so she was trapped inside, and there wasn't even anyone to talk to. Alanna was wrapped up in meetings with the king and council, George was off on his mysterious business (Imogen had learned not to ask), the twins were serving pot-scrubbing duty in the kitchens for a prank involving worms in Duke Gareth's soup, and Thom had his nose buried in a thick book, responding with grunts if disturbed.

"I hate forced inactivity," Imogen moaned at the ceiling. "I feel so incredibly useless." Suddenly she leapt down from the window-seat. "Well, if activity is not going to find me, I'll go in search of activity," she declared. She marched determinedly out of her room, inelegantly slamming the door behind her. 

Half an hour later Imogen was completely and totally lost. Alanna had been right when she talked about how confusing the palace was. None of the passages went where they were supposed to, and once you took a wrong turning it was impossible to get back on track. Imogen flopped down, sighing wearily. "Brilliant," she remarked to thin air. "I'm lost. Well, at least I'm not bored anymore."

Kalasin's head popped out of a door on her left. "Thank the gods for small mercies, then," the princess laughed. "I'd rather be lost than reading these old things."

Imogen smiled at her friend. She had become good friends with Kalasin over the last week and the elder girl had shown her many fascinating things about Corus. "Why don't we both go in search of some more interesting employment?" she suggested now.

Kalasin grinned. "You're on." Her head disappeared and a moment later the princess herself came walking out of the room, which Imogen now realized was her private study. "I know just where to go."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Kalasin," Imogen said uneasily, peering through the door of the inn, "Kalasin, are you sure this is safe?"

The older girl rolled her eyes. "Of course I'm sure. I come here all the time. Look, there's Baron George." She nodded to a corner of the smoky tavern.

"George is here?" Imogen asked, surprised. Sure enough, the Lioness' husband was sitting hunched at a table, deep in conversation with another man. "Wonder what he's doing there," she mused, following Kalasin into the building.

The noise inside was deafening. Patrons roared for more ale, girls giggled, men laughed and swapped jokes. Imogen had to fight the urge to run straight back out the door. She hated noise.

"Come on," Kalasin yelled over the din. "I want to introduce you to a friend of mine. I'm wondering what he'll think of you. You're rather an unusual girl by Tortallan standards, you know."

Imogen rolled her eyes. "I'm aware of the fact," she shouted back. "Judging from the fact that most people gape at me like a specimen in a zoo, I must be absolutely fascinating to these old stuffy nobles with over-inflated senses of their own importance."

Kally smirked. "Well, I can assure you that Domingo is not one of those. Now hurry up." The princess shoved her way through the press of bodies surrounding the bar. Imogen heaved a sigh and followed her, hoping the elder girl knew what she was doing.

Kalasin walked straight up to a tall boy with midnight black hair. "Domingo, sorry to disturb you, but I brought new company," the princess said.

The boy spun on his stool. "Hello, Kally," he said easily. Then he caught sight of Imogen and whistled. "Aren't you going to introduce me to your towheaded friend there?"

"Domingo, this is Imogen Darcy. Imogen, this is Domingo Wheeler."

Up close, Imogen could see that Domingo was probably handsome enough to start minor riots among a gathering of teenage girls. However, she remained singularly unimpressed with his good looks. Maybe it was the fact that he had just called her a towhead, or maybe it was the fact that he was at the moment looking her up and down like a prize filly at a fair. She glowered at him.

"Always pleased to meet a fair lady," the boy said, preparing to raise her hand to his lips. However, Imogen jerked it away.

"Let's get a few things straight," she said. "First, _I am not a lady_. Second, nobody, and I mean _nobody_, kisses my hand. Third, I am not a towhead. Towheads have watery blue eyes, and mine are green, if you hadn't noticed. Fourth, it's rude to stare at strangers, and even ruder to oogle as you have been doing. Don't Tortallans have manners?"

Kally snickered. "Charming as usual," she said, reclining against the bar. "You'd better watch out, Domingo. Her arguments with Thom are infamous. He set her tunic on fire once, and she chased him all around the palace with a frying pan."

Domingo's jaw dropped. "A frying pan?" he choked.

Imogen grinned widely. "A frying pan," she confirmed. "It was the nearest weapon on hand, and very formidable. I never knew Thommy-lad could run quite that fast."

Domingo stared at her for a few more seconds before doubling over, absolutely roaring with laughter. "Well, Imogen who is not a towhead or a lady, and who chases Thom of Pirate's Swoop around the castle with a frying pan, you're welcome here a the Dancing Dove any time you so wish."

That proved to be an invitation Imogen would take advantage of many times. She became quite a common sight at the Dancing Dove, sitting at the bar sipping her water or lemonade. She built quite a solid friendship with Domingo, and the duo, plus Kalasin, spent many a happy hour talking and joking around. The regular patrons became quite fond of the brutally honest young girl, and George realized he no longer had to keep a close eye on Imogen when she ventured down to the city. Not a rogue in the business would dare to touch the girl's purse or harm her in any way. 

Imogen had great fun at the Dancing Dove. She taught her new friends to play poker with a deck of cards that had been in her pocket on the day of her fateful drop into Tortall. The rogues loved it and played the game by the hour. In fact, there was only one cloud on her horizon, and that was, of course, Thom.

Her new friends in the city were the cause of much new friction between the two. Though now close enough to be considered friends, the volatile arguments still persisted. Thom didn't think Imogen should spend so much time in the city, and Imogen retorted that it was none of his business what she did. Privately Imogen puzzled to no end about why he even cared but came up with no solutions. Eventually she carried her problem to the friend she considered the epitome of female wisdom – Kalasin.

"I just can't understand it!" Imogen exclaimed in frustration. "He never showed the slightest interest in what I did before, and he can't think that they're beneath him, because he goes there almost as often as I do! He's just being exasperating."

The princess laughed merrily. "Imogen, you're one of the most intelligent people I know, but you're hopelessly blind about what's in front of your face." At Imogen's blank look, Kally sighed and elaborated. "He's jealous, you great idiot."

Imogen blinked at her. "He's…what?"

"Jealous."

"Thom's not jealous."

"Oh? And how do you know this, pray tell?"

Imogen wrinkled her nose. "Well, why would he be jealous? In order to be jealous, he'd have to care." Catching sight of Kalasin's dancing eyes, Imogen shook her head. "Oh no, Kalasin. Don't even think about it. Thom is _not_ in love with me. We're friends. It's bad enough with Alianne taunting me, so don't you dare start too."

"Think about it logically, Imogen," the princess said persuasively. "You're different from all the other girls he's ever met. You're down-to-earth and you're honest. You say exactly what you think, and you don't care a Stormwing's toenail what anyone says about you. Gods know you're pretty enough in your own way. Thom's afraid that Domingo's going to fall in love with you, or worse, you'll fall in love with Domingo."

"Don't be insane," Imogen said flatly. "Thom is not in love with me. _Domingo_ is not in love with me. _I am not in love with anyone_. Am I the only one in this bizarre world who doesn't have a head clouded with romance?"

Kalasin chuckled, shaking her head. "You'll see. By the way, there's a ball tomorrow, did you know?"

Imogen choked. "No," she said. "Gods curse it, I suppose I'm expected to go?"

"Yep," the princess said, fighting her laughter. "It's your formal presentation at court."

"Lovely," the younger girl said sarcastically. "I can hardly wait."


	11. Balls, Dresses, And Mud

****

Chapter 11: Balls, Dresses, and Mud

It's here! I must warn all my faithful readers that the next chapter might be a while in coming. I'm getting my wisdom teeth out tomorrow and I don't know how long I'll be laid up. However, I'm also finished school, so I have lots of time to devote to writing!

Nothing's mine, except Imogen.

"No," Imogen said stubbornly, crossing her arms over her chest. "No, no, no. I refuse to wear that."

Kalasin sighed patiently. "But Imogen, all the court ladies have to wear them. It's the price of fashion. "

Imogen glared at her friend, her expression mulish. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not a court lady," she announced. "That looks more like a torture device than a garment."

Kalasin glared right back, her temper getting the better of her. "Imogen Darcy, whether you like it or not, you're going to have to wear a corset to this ball. Now accept it and let it go."

Imogen sighed, rubbing her nose. She had learned to recognize that stubborn expression on her best friend's face. Kalasin was not going to budge on this issue. She shot a look of pure venom at the offending article, and closed her eyes. "You win, Kally. Do your worst."

The princess smirked. "Thank you," she said and signaled to the maids.

As Imogen's ribs were slowly compressed in an effort to alter her figure, she thought irately about the coming torture. Almost an hour ago Kalasin had forcibly dragged her out of the stables and into the elder girl's room to ensure that Imogen really was coming to the ball and would look at least moderately respectable by Tortallan standards. It had turned into a battle royal as the two girls argued over what was truly required.

Imogen gritted her teeth as the maid gave the ties a final yank. She tried to take a deep breath and yelped in pain. "How do you stand this, Kally?" she demanded. "My lungs are squashed!"

"You'll get used to it," Kalasin said coolly. "Now for your dress. You _are_ going to look like you belong here. After all, you're coming down the Grand Staircase with me."

Imogen growled as her green dress was tugged on over her head. "Don't remind me," she said sourly. "I'll have to get used to every stupid, stuck-up, grasping noble trying to suck up to me because I happen to be the eldest princess' best friend." She winced again as the maid tugged on her dress fastenings. "And I suppose I'll be expected to dance. I hope my partners don't step on my toes, or I'll kick them in the shins, decorum or not."

Kalasin made a sound that might or might not have been agreement. "Hair," she announced instead. "After that, face paint and you're all done."

"Oh no you don't, Kally," Imogen said through gritted teeth, this time putting her foot down. "No way am I wearing face paint, and don't look at me so exasperatedly. If you try to make me, I'll tear off this dress and go to the ball in my underclothes."

Kalasin stared at her friend for a moment and then burst out laughing. "All right, no face paint," she agreed. "You don't need it anyway. But you are going to have your hair done in style."

Imogen nodded, already resigned to this, and the maid began to brush out her silky pale hair. _*As long as it's not really horrible, it won't kill me,*_ the girl reasoned.

Finally, after what felt like a decade, the last pin was slid into place. "Done, my lady," the maid declared. "You're as pretty as a picture."

"Let me see," Kalasin said commandingly. She surveyed Imogen, head on one side. Finally she nodded her approval. "I agree," she declared. "Not a beauty, but pretty enough to draw a few eyes, and nobody will ever forget your face."

"May I see?" Imogen inquired irately. "After all, I'm the one who had to be pinched and poked and squeezed." She twirled on the stool to face the mirror.

Imogen stared at her reflection for a long time, scrutinizing everything from the toes of her pale green slippers to the crown of her head. Lalasa had surpassed herself on this dress. It was pale green silk with gold embroidery with a full skirt and modest neckline. The sleeves were tight and ended just below Imogen's elbows. The girl's green-gold eyes were smouldering with suppressed annoyance under her long fair lashes. A sprinkling of freckles lightly dusted across her nose. The maid had braided Imogen's fair hair and wound the plaits around her head like a coronet. 

Imogen wrinkled her nose at her reflection. "I don't look like _me_," she complained. "I look like an idiot and I feel like an idiot."

"You look fine," Kalasin said soothingly. "Now come on, it's time to go and we're already late."

Imogen looked admiringly at her friend. "Pretty or not, I'm not a patch on you." Kalasin in deep blue satin with her black hair pinned up in curls was a sight to behold.

"Nonsense," the princess said briskly, standing up and opening the door. "I have heredity behind me. You're every inch as pretty, just in other ways."

Imogen snorted her disbelief as she followed her friend out the door. She was not looking forward to this…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"The Princess Royal, Kalasin of Conte, and the Lady Imogen Darcy," the herald announced, flinging open the doors. Kalasin stepped regally onto the staircase, Imogen one step behind her, scowling slightly at being called a lady. Silently she blessed the dancing teacher who had taught her to walk in long skirts without tripping. Those stairs were _steep!_

Kalasin led Imogen over to the thrones where her parents were seated. The princess curtsied gracefully to King Jonathan and Queen Thayet, while Imogen bowed. She didn't plan to abase herself before anyone, king or no. She looked up to see Thayet's eyes twinkling merrily. Evidently the queen had not forgotten their last meeting.

However, Imogen didn't have much time to reflect on the queen's expression as two red-haired teenagers swooped down on her. The twins were bubbling with exuberance and spirits and insisted on dragging Imogen off towards their parents and brother.

"Here she is, Ma," Alianne said. "Imogen's wearing a dress! The world is ending!"

The Lioness herself was in formal attire, a violet silk gown accenting her unusual eyes. Seeing Imogen's disgruntled expression, she laughed and said, "I used to hate dresses too. However, I learned the trick is to grin and bear it."

"Thanks," Imogen said acidly. "That's incredibly encouraging."

Thom snickered. "You look like somebody tried to force-feed you poison," he said candidly.

"I think I would have been happier drinking poison," Imogen admitted. "Kalasin dragged me into her room and said that she wouldn't let me leave unless I let her dress me up like a doll. She may be my best friend and a princess, but she can be awfully annoying at times."

Thom grinned. "It's about to get worse," he said mischievously. "That black-haired boy walking in this direction is Seaver of Tasride, and I'll bet you ten gold nobles that he's going to ask you to dance."

Imogen groaned. "Gods grant me patience to get through this night," she silently prayed and turned to face the approaching torture. 

After an hour Imogen was bored to tears, her feet were throbbing, and she had a splitting headache. She was talking (or rather listening to) an incredibly fat man drone on and on about his riches and his hopes for promotion at court. Imogen heard about one word in ten. All her attention was focussed on the door. If only she could escape from this stuffy room, with these idiotic people who had nothing better to do than to talk about themselves…

Finally she saw her chance. The portly man turned away to address one of his passing acquaintances and Imogen darted away, making a beeline for the door leading to the gardens. She slipped out and breathed a sigh of relief. She was free!

The palace gardens were a mass of shadows cast by the torches set on the palace walls. They were also virtually deserted, as all the nobles and servants were inside at the ball. Imogen was profoundly grateful for that small mercy. She slipped down the garden path until she found a bench. Kicking off her slippers and stockings and tossing them into the nearest bush, she stretched out along the bench and folded her hands behind her head, staring up at the stars. It had taken her a while to get used to the different constellations of the Tortallan sky, and it was still vaguely unsettling to look up at the night sky and not see the familiar stars of Canada. Sighing, she let her thoughts wander.

"You know," said an annoying voice from behind her, "in Tortall it's considered common courtesy to stay at a ball or party until the end, especially when it's a celebration of a royal wedding."

Imogen sat up with a gasp. Leaning casually on the back of the bench was Thom, smirking at her. She groaned in exasperation. "Thom, you are an ass," she said, lying back down. "It's also common courtesy not to startle unsuspecting, innocent maidens who happen to be stargazing."

Thom snorted. "You? Innocent? This coming from the girl who chased me around the palace with a frying pan? You're about as far from innocent as it's possible to be. What're you doing out here, anyway?"

"I couldn't stand those stupid, stuck-up, grasping old imbeciles any longer," Imogen said bluntly. "If I had heard one more person boast about how rich and powerful they were, I'd probably vomit. I don't think I'm quite cut out for life in a palace. What're _you_ doing out here?" 

"I had to come protect you. The poor, innocent maiden could be kidnapped and held for ransom. However, with me here, they would not dare."

Imogen snorted with laughter. "You? Protect me? What have you been drinking? They'd probably attack just to shut you up."

Thom looked insulted. "If you don't appreciate my many skills, I'll go find some other damsel in distress who sees my full worth," he said huffily, and stormed off.

Imogen raised an eyebrow. "You do that," she said coolly to his retreating back. "Then I can go back to thinking in peace." 

She leaned back against the bench and closed her eyes, retreating again into her thoughts. She was perfectly at peace, drifting somewhere amidst the stars when a bucketful of water splashed over her face.

She sat up with a shriek, soaking wet, to see Thom dancing about, convulsed with laughter. "Thom of Pirate's Swoop!" she bellowed, well and truly angry. "You'll pay dearly for that trick!" She dove at the helpless boy, sending them rolling in the dirt of the garden path. With one hand she grabbed up a handful of dirt and ground it into his red hair. Thom, stronger than his adversary, picked up the squirming girl and dumped her in the garden fountain, but Imogen, not one to give up without a fight, dragged him in with her. She pulled herself out and scooped up more dirt, pelting Thom with mudballs. He got into the spirit of things and soon a full-fledged war was on.

Twenty minutes later, soaked, filthy and grinning, the combatants called a truce and took stock of their appearance. Imogen's previously sleek hair hung in a bedraggled tangle around her face. Her dress was covered in mud and her bare feet were filthy. Thom's red hair had turned a dirty brown with all the mud ground in, and his attire was in a similar state to Imogen's.

"Ma's going to kill me," Thom muttered under his breath. "She told me to behave myself."

"Well, Kally's going to kill me," Imogen said matter-of-factly. "She wanted me to behave like a Tortallan lady. Somehow I don't think Tortallan ladies have mud fights. Anyway, there's no way we can go back to the ball in this state, so we'd better sneak back to our rooms and hope nobody sees us."

"You're right," Thom agreed. "Ma can't kill me if she doesn't know." The two teenagers stealthily crept through the deserted palace hallways and split up, going to their respective rooms. Imogen snuck inside her own room and, exhausted, stripped out of her ruined finery and slipped into a nightgown. She sank into bed, not knowing the very next morning she would be awoken by the maid's screech as she saw the yards of filthy silk. As Imogen slipped off into dreamland, her last thought was, *_I wonder if all balls are as fun as that?*_


	12. Inconvienient Wars and Confusing Males

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Chapter 12: Inconvenient Wars and Confusing Males

I'm so terribly, horribly sorry this took so incredibly long to come out. I had a really busy summer, what with music camp, moving, visiting an old friend for three weeks, and helping my older sister move into her new home. She's not living with us anymore, much to my sorrow.

I want to dedicate this chapter to my patient, faithful reviewers. Also to Devon Joiner, who's never going to read it, but what the heck, he's inspirational anyway. Also brilliant, talented, a genius and my best friend to boot.

It all belongs to Tamora Pierce, except, of course, Imogen and the plot.

Needless to say, Kalasin was not pleased at how Imogen had chosen to spend the night of the ball. The princess tried to lecture Imogen, but due to her sense of humor kept bursting out laughing and eventually gave in to her curiosity, stopped berating her friend, and demanded a full narration of the mudfight. The princess had laughed so hard she had to be helped back to her rooms.

Another good thing came of Imogen's unorthodox activity. Kally had told her mother the story and Queen Thayet had summoned Imogen to her chambers and told her a very amusing story about a certain pink dress. Imogen in her mirth had promptly forgiven the Queen for her behavior on their first meeting and now was good friends with both the Queen and eldest princess, as well as practically Alanna's adopted daughter, giving her considerable clout in the court. However, she still avoided formal events on every possible occasion.

It was perhaps two weeks after Imogen's garden escapade and she was once again in the city with Kally, sitting at the Dancing Dove sipping tea and talking. Domingo was always very happy to see these two guests. Today the topic of choice was the growing threat of a Scanran attack. All had been quiet on the border and some courtiers were beginning to voice their opinion that the Scanrans had given up. However, Alanna didn't believe it, and neither did the king.

"So," Imogen said, stirring her tea with her finger, "this King Maggur has united the factions and now says 'Oh, I'm getting bored, let's go attack Tortall,' gathers an army, builds a couple of dozen machines, and starts a war. The Tortallans notice that an army is attacking them, get mad, amass their own army, and attack the Scanrans. The Scanrans get angry at the Tortallans and attack, further provoking the Tortallans, who retaliate, which enrages the Scanrans, and around and around it goes. It sounds very nonsensical to me, and an awful lot like the wars on Earth."

Domingo smirked at her. "Are you planning to go out to the battlefield and stop the war?" he asked. "Be the next Lioness and all that?"

Imogen snorted. "Me? Are you crazy? I'm definitely not hero material. And even if I was, I couldn't stop this war. There's always going to be war as long as there are human beings. We're a naturally war-like species." She wrinkled up her nose. "Ooh, that sounds wise. Maybe I could go into politics." 

Kally choked on her laughter. "You in politics? You'd talk everyone in circles so they're chasing their own tails and never get anything done! It'd be the end of the world as we know it!"

Imogen smiled innocently at her friend. "It's a gift. But seriously, I don't think I could be a warrior. I can't fight worth beans, except with my fists. I prefer chess."

"You're not exactly a champion at that, either," Kally commented dryly. "Thom whipped you hollow yesterday. Mind you, it's possible you let him win…"

Imogen rolled her eyes. "Pardon me a moment," she said to Domingo, then poured the remnants of her stone-cold tea over the snickering princess' head. She turned back to Domingo, who was staring at her, open-mouthed. "She's trying to convince me that I'm in love with Thom," she explained coolly. "Either that or Thom's in love with me. She's either completely insane or has a death wish. Must have caught it from Alianne."

"In love with Thom?" Domingo had a very peculiar expression on his face, like he was fighting very hard not to laugh. "You're not, are you?"

Imogen glanced at him curiously. "No, of course not. I'm only seventeen. Is this insanity a contagious disease? I'm too young to be in love with anyone. According to Canadian standards, I'm not considered an adult until my eighteenth birthday." Imogen stood up and stretched elaborately. "Speaking of both Thom and eighteenth birthdays, his is tomorrow. He's an annoying lummox, but I still want to get him a present. He's one of my best friends."

"Well then, we'd better go now. It's dark soon and we should be back at the palace." Kalasin stretched too. "I'll take you to the best shops. What are you looking for?"

Imogen grinned, her green eyes lighting devilishly. "Book. He reads 98.5% of the time, and it's good for whapping him with."

It didn't take the two girls long to locate a shop that sold books of sorcery and soon they were trudging back up to the palace in companionable silence. Imogen was pondering Domingo's strange look when he heard of Kally's – ahem – _delusions_. What in the name of heaven could be so funny?

However, these thoughts were driven from her mind as soon as she set foot in the palace. Master Numair came running toward her, waving excitedly. He had apparently been waiting for some time for Imogen to return.

"I think I've figured out the secret of Tortall's disappearing truthsayers," he said excitedly. "If it's not inconvenient, Imogen, could you come to my room so we can talk more comfortably? I have a feeling this could take a while."

"Of course," Imogen said. "Kalasin, would you mind taking this to my room? And please explain to Alanna where I've gone. Tell her I'll be back as soon as possible." The princess nodded and Imogen followed Numair as he briskly strode through the hallways. He stopped abruptly in front of a door sporting a brass nameplate. "Numair Salmalin," it proclaimed, and then underneath , "Veralidaine Sarrasri." The mage pushed open the door and beckoned for Imogen to follow.

They were greeted by a large lizard about the size of a dog with a long snout and powder-blue scales. She cocked her head and peered at Imogen, trilling inquiringly.

"Ah yes," Numair said, smiling. "Imogen, this is Skysong, more commonly known as Kitten. She's a young dragon. Kitten, this is Imogen Darcy." 

"Aren't you going to introduce me too?" inquired a woman's voice. Imogen looked up to encounter the gaze of a woman in her mid-twenties with softly curling brown hair and blue-gray eyes. "Hello, I'm Daine Sarrasri. Numair's told me about you. You're the young truthsayer."

Imogen smiled wryly. "Yep, that's me. Very unfortunate, too. Nobody knows my name anymore, I'm just 'the young truthsayer.'"

Daine laughed. "I know the feeling. I'm 'the Wildmage.' Sometimes I wish people hear my name _before_ they hear about my abilities. Another empty dream." The two females smiled at each other, for a moment in perfect understanding.

Numair cleared his throat. "I was hoping you two would meet. You both have unusual magical abilities, abilities that haven't been seen in Tortall for many generations. Which brings me to my next point. Imogen, you may want to sit down."

Imogen selected a rather overstuffed green armchair as her perch. Immediately a large gray cat leapt into her lap and made itself at home. "Cheeky," she remarked to the cat, stroking it. "Continue, please, Master Numair."

"What I have discovered is that truthsense is a hereditary trait. Truthsayers can only be born to parents of which one or both have a family background of truthsense, which means that your parents must have either been truthsayers themselves or descended from truthsayers. However, that's not the only discovery I have made." The mage reached for a book at his side. "This book is the most detailed reference to the art of truthsense that I can find in the palace archives. It contains detailed portraits of all the major truthsayers on record. At first I could not discover why such portraits were included in a reference book, but I discovered the connection." He flipped open the book to a page of small painted portraits. "Look at their eyes."

Curious, Imogen leaned forward to peer at the pictures. At first, like Numair, she couldn't see their significance, but as she gazed from portrait to portrait she noticed a strange similarity. She looked up accusingly at the mage. "They all have green-and-gold eyes. Like me. Why?"

"Imogen, believe me when I say I really don't know," Numair sighed. "It's an unsolved mystery. I believe it has something to do with the truthsense ability, the gold in the eyes revealing that which is hidden to others. Of course, this is just in Tortall and, it seems, Earth. Elsewhere there are reports of truthsayers with completely unconnected eye colors. However, there is yet another interesting fact. Note the birth and death dates under each portrait. Now flip to the very last page, the last portrait."

Imogen did as she was bid. The last portrait was of a young man, slightly older than she was now. Under his portrait was a birth date, but instead of a death date there was this line: "Mysteriously vanished, March 19, H.E. 120." Under that, there was yet another line "No more truthsense."

Imogen shrugged. "So when the last truthsayer vanished, there was no more truthsense. What's so incredible about that?" Then she wrinkled her nose. "Wait a minute. March 19? I came here on March 19. March 19 three hundred years ago. He was the last victim."

"Precisely," Numair said, settling back in his chair with a satisfied expression. "There are special laws governing even the actions of the gods. What they take away they must give back, in some form or another. Since they took Tortall's last truthsayer, they had to give us back one in the next transfer."

However, Imogen wasn't paying attention. "You say that truthsense is hereditary?" she asked. "Then this nutter must be my ancestor in some way, shape, or form. I hope this stupid world-transfer thing doesn't run in the family."

"We see no reason to believe that," Numair said comfortingly. "However, since the gods took a truthsayer from Tortall last time, they had to return one, meaning that they had to take a member of the same family." The mage cleared his throat uncomfortably. "That's another thing the king wanted me to discuss with you. You're Tortall's last truthsayer. When you die, the ability dies with you, so…I mean…Jonathan thought…maybe…" Numair glanced at Imogen nervously and finished in a rush. "The king wants to keep you in the palace because there's a war on and you would be a very powerful bargaining piece if you fell into the hands of the Scanrans."

Imogen was seething. "So," she said, "your precious king Jonathan wants to keep me a prisoner in his very luxurious castle because he's worried that the Scanrans might want me. Bloody hell! I'm not even Tortallan! Of all the presumptuous, rude, unfeeling, foolish, pompous, arrogant, conceited prigs I have ever met, he's the very worst! How is it possible that Kalasin could be his daughter?"

Numair had risen to his feet in alarm. "Now, Imogen, try to be calm," he said, speaking very swiftly. "He's the king, he has a lot of important matters to take care of, and he just wants to make sure you're safe."

"I don't care! He has no right to keep me here, like I'm a piece of property! What a pompous windbag!" Imogen leapt to her feet, eyes blazing. "If he thinks he can keep me here against my will, he's got another thing coming!" With that, she stormed out of the room.

Numair stared glumly after her retreating back. "That didn't go down well at all," he commented.

Daine snorted. "She's a strong-willed girl, Numair. It's like trying to cage a hawk. She'll fight Jonathan until he lets her go, and if he won't she'll run away."

A week later Imogen sat on the ornate bed in her palace room, completely bored. The King so far hadn't imposed very restrictive measures on her. She still had full run of the castle, but every time she stepped outside the palace an armed guard surreptitiously followed her at a distance. It had become so annoying that Imogen had taken to remaining in her room just to avoid such reminders of her captivity. She was also rather hurt that the Lioness had sided with the king on this matter.

"It's not that I don't trust you," Alanna had explained. "It's just that the Scanrans are getting restless and you don't know how to defend yourself very well yet. If they get hold of you they have a very powerful weapon. Believe me, if I were the one confined, I'd be just as furious."

Imogen sighed, running her finger along one of the designs in the quilt. Kalasin, Lianne, Thom, Alan and Alianne visited at regular intervals each day, but it wasn't the same as it used to be. She missed her freedom. She missed the long afternoons spent playing chess and cards in the Dancing Dove.

Suddenly there was a frantic pounding on Imogen's door. She leapt to her feet and jerked it open to reveal Alianne, her face pasty white.

"The Scanrans have attacked our northern border!" she gasped out. "Hurry! The King's Own are leaving right now, and Ma and Thom are going with them!"

Imogen didn't need telling twice. She raced down the twisting corridors to the courtyard with Alianne, gasping out questions as she ran.

"Why is Alanna taking Thom? He's a mage, not a warrior!"

"They need all the mages they can get, even half-trained ones, to confuse the enemy. The Scanrans have mages too, but not up to the standard of our Tortallan ones." There was a note of pride in Alianne's breathless voice.

The courtyard was in utter uproar. Everyone was trying their level best to get ready in a great hurry and ended up getting in everybody else's way. Imogen shaded her eyes and scanned the crowd for the flash of distinctive red hair that characterized Alanna and her offspring.

"There!" shouted Alianne, pointing to the far corner of the courtyard. The two girls wound their way through the chaos until they were standing beside Alanna's horse. Baron George had his arm around his wife and the love shining in his eyes made Imogen think of her parents in those moments when they thought nobody was looking. Blindly she turned away, looking for something else to focus on so that she could leave the Lioness and her husband to say goodbye in relative peace.

Thom was standing next to his mother. His customary grin was gone, to be replaced with a look of half sadness, half grim knowledge. Imogen realized that this boy, only a few months older than she herself, was riding off into a battle where he could very well lose his life, and he knew it full well. Imogen felt an unexpected pull at her heartstrings.

"You all right?" she asked softly, going up to him and placing a gentle hand on his arm.

Thom looked at her, expression unreadable. "As all right as can be expected, I think," he said quietly. I've only been in one battle before, and I was too small to really do anything. I remember it, though. It was horrible." He leaned against his horse, face white under his thatch of fiery hair.

"You'll be all right," Imogen said, speaking with a confidence she didn't feel. "Thom of Pirate's Swoop, if you dare to die on me I'll go all the way to the Black God's realm and drag you back by your hair."

Thom looked up, his old rougish grin back in place. "Sounds painful," he commented and would have said more but Alanna called for him to mount up. He swung up onto his horse's back and looked down at Imogen. He opened his mouth to say something, changed his mind, and then sighed loudly in exasperation. "Oh, Mithros' beard," he grumbled, then suddenly leaned down, tilted up the fair-haired girl's head and kissed her sweetly.

Imogen was absolutely flabbergasted. "What…Thom…why…?" she stammered.

Thom laughed at her shocked expression. "Finally, I've got you speechless," he crowed, then took advantage of the occasion by kissing her again.

"All right, young man, if you're finished your romancing, it's about time to go now," Alanna interrupted, a note of amusement in her voice. Thom released Imogen and saluted his mother cheekily before wheeling his horse and following her out of the courtyard.

Imogen stared after his retreating back, her mouth still working soundlessly. _Oh gods, just when I thought I had this world figured out, you develop a sense of humor_, she thought pitifully.

****

YES, YES, I FINALLY GOT IT WRITTEN! THOM/IMOGEN ACTION AT LAST!

The next chapter hopefully won't take as long to come out as this one did, so remain patient!


	13. Divine Intervention

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Chapter 13: Divine Intervention

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'Tisn't mine, 'tis Tamora Pierce's. Give me credit for Imogen, Loge and the plot. And don't sue me, I'm trying to save my money for music school!

Imogen spent the next few days walking around in a daze. She had retreated to some inner sanctuary in her mind and observed all events with detached wonder as she tried to figure out exactly what had happened in the courtyard as Thom and Alanna headed off to war. It was as though somebody had taken her world, shaken it up, and then put it down again, upside-down.

Needless to say, Kalasin and Alianne were postively cackling with glee. The news of the scene in the courtyard spread like wildfire throughout the castle and King Jonathan suddenly became much more gracious to Imogen. After all, truthsense was hereditary. Even Domingo was smirking, but that may have been because he was the one who had put the idea into Thom's head in the first place.

"Honestly," he said after Kalasin told him, "you two are the densest people I have ever met. Thom had to be whacked in the face with the fact that he was head-over-heels for you before he could see it. I've heard that love was blind, but not _that_ blind!"

About a week after the departure of the troops from Corus, Kalasin suddenly burst into her friend's room, seething with fury.

"I'm engaged," she declared before Imogen could even open her mouth. "That great, tremendous, foolish, stuck-up prig I call my father has engaged me to Emperor Kaddar. Kaddar! In Carthak! I'll murder him!"

Imogen raised an eyebrow. "Who, your father or Kaddar?" she asked, her voice faintly amused.

"Argh…both!" Kally said, burying her face in a chair. "Why, why did I have to be born a princess to be sold at auction like a cow? It happened to Roald too, but at least he loves Shinko, and at least he gets to do something. Carthaki women are supposed to be meek, beautiful, and absolutely useless! I should have run away when Father refused to let me become a knight!"

Imogen got up from the window where she had been sitting and walked over to Kalasin. "Oh Kally, it can't really be that bad," she said soothingly. "Look on the bright side, at least your father isn't trying to end this foolish war by betrothing you to King Maggoty Bread. And you can make Kaddar's life miserable if you want. Be unconventional. Shock the stupid Carthaki nobles. Heaven knows I've done enough of that in just a few short months."

Kally raised her head, managing a grin. "I suppose it isn't really so bad," she admitted. "Daine says Kaddar's nice. Maybe we can be friends." Then Kally bared her teeth in a snarl. "Oh, I wouldn't take it so badly if I could do something useful for once. Being cooped up in this castle while there's a war going on is driving me mad with impatience!"

Imogen's head shot up abruptly. A devilish light sprang to life in her green-gold eyes. "Kally, you have the Gift, right?" she asked. "And I'm a truthsayer. Two very useful weapons in a war. Hmmm…"

Kalasin caught on immediately. "And with the metal devices, they need all the help they can get," she continued, a gleam in her own eyes. "I'm a princess and know how to behave, and you – you're practically the adopted daughter of the Lioness." Then suddenly she crumpled again. "But he won't let us go, Imogen, I know he won't. He'll say it's too dangerous and forbid us."

"Then we'll go anyway," Imogen said determinedly. "I'm not going to let some stupid king stop me from doing my part."

Kalasin looked at the determined light in her friend's eyes and suddenly knew that no mortal could stop her now that her mind was made up. The eldest princess sprang to her feet and linked arms with her friend and together they marched towards the king's council chamber.

"No," said King Jonathan firmly. "It's too dangerous. Kalasin, you should know better. You're the eldest princess, after all. And Lady Imogen, you're the only truthsayer Tortall has."

"All the more reason for me to go," Imogen said persuasively, though internally she was screaming with anger. They had been coaxing the king for almost an hour and he hadn't budged an inch. It looked like total stalemate, but Imogen wasn't giving up and neither was Kally. "The mages need me to see through the illusions. They need Kally to heal their wounds. Is the risk to our lives greater than the value of all the lives we could save?"

King Jonathan sighed. "We've been over this before, Imogen. As Kalasin's father and your king, I forbid you to go."

Imogen's patience finally snapped. "You're not my king. You have no authority over me whatsoever, since I'm not a citizen of Tortall and never swore allegiance to you. I'm going whether you like it or not."

"That can be easily fixed," Jonathan said icily, his patience gone too. "Guards!" he called. "Confine these two girls to their rooms. Treat them gently, but until they give in, they are not to leave without escort."

Kalasin shrieked with fury and indignation. "Father, you can't do this. Father! You pompous ignoramus, you can't confine us just because we have minds of our own! Imogen! Help me!"

But Imogen had retreated, far, far into her mind, chasing a presence that had been with her since she first set foot on Tortallan soil…

**__**

Loge! LOGE! she screamed. **Curse you, Loge, where are you when I need you?**

Right here said that familiar voice**. Right where I always am. You keep me entertained, especially around that young red-haired mortal. You liked his kisses, didn't you?**

Be that as it may, that is not what I came here to talk about Imogen snapped. **Use your divine influence to snap that infernal pig Jonathan out of his self-righteous state of mind. Kally and I need to get to the Scanran border.**

But I don't have a physical manifestation the god protested. **I exist only in the minds of chosen people, and King Jonathan is not one of them.**

Then get a physical manifestation Imogen said. **I don't care if you come as a talking sneaker, I need some help here! If you don't I'll simply sit in my room and rot rather than provide you with any more 'entertainment'.**

Imogen could feel the god smile. **A talking sneaker, I like that. However, I think I'll go for something a little more imposing. I'll help you, little mortal, if only for the expression on that king's face when he sees me.**

Imogen came back to her real body with a gasp to find everyone in the room staring at her. She glared at them all and stepped over to Kalasin. "Don't worry, Kalasin. I've enlisted a bit of divine intervention."

Any reply the princess might have made was lost in the shouts of alarm as suddenly a huge revolving pillar of fire erupted from floor to ceiling. The guards seized Imogen, Kalasin and the king, pulling them back against the wall and drawing their swords. The pillar was between them and the door.

Suddenly the pillar vanished and in its stead stood a seven-foot tall figure with orange hair and eyes and flowing green robes.

Imogen sighed and rolled her eyes. She pushed past the guards and confronted the god, hands on hips. "You never do anything by halves, do you?" she asked in exasperation.

Loge grinned. "You did ask for my help, mortal," he reminded her. "Can I help it if I like melodrama?"

Imogen sighed again and reluctantly grinned back. "I suppose not. Very effective, though."

The king interrupted, having followed their interchange with growing confusion on his face. 'You're a – a _god_?" he inquired of Loge.

"Course he's a god," Imogen said. "He brought me here."

Jonathan sat back in his chair with a thump, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Imogen caught Kalasin's eye and grinned. Judging by the king's astonished expression, he was overawed to be in the presence of a god. Things were looking up…

Loge drew himself to his full and very imposing height. "MORTAL," he boomed. "By my divine right as a god and with the support of Mithros, I order you to permit these two girls, one my chosen human vessel, to travel to the Scanran front and assist in your conflict. To disobey this order risks incurring the wrath of the gods. Beware, lest your disobedience cost you the realm and your life."

Jonathan by this time was paper white and seemed to have shrunk quite a bit. "Well, of course," he babbled. "Wouldn't dream about going against the will of the gods. So sorry. Yes, they can go immediately."

Loge smiled distantly. "Very wise, mortal," he said. He spun around, winked at Imogen, and vanished into a pillar of smoke.

The silence in the King's council chamber was deafening. Jonathan sat collapsed in his chair, his skin an unhealthy shade of pale green. The guards seemed stunned at the sudden appearance and just as abrupt disappearance of such a strange deity. Kalasin and Imogen barely dared breathe as they waited for the king's verdict.

Finally Jonathan seemed to rouse himself from his trance. He stared at his eldest daughter and her best friend, eyes dark with confusion. He opened his mouth but no words came out. He swallowed, cleared his throat and tried again. "You may go to the Scanran front," he managed hoarsely. "I'll send you with a squad of soldiers to Steadfast. Raoul can take care of you."

Imogen and Kalasin glanced at each other, eyes sparkling. "Thank you, Father," Kalasin said respectfully, barely able to contain her glee.

"Yes, well, I can hardly argue with a god, can I?" Jonathan said, pulling a piece of parchment and a quill towards him. "I'll give you a letter to take to Raoul. You may depart now."

Not daring to glance at each other, the two girls bowed respectfully to the king and eased out the door. Once in the corridor Kalasin turned to Imogen, blue eyes dancing. "Divine intervention? Imogen, that was _spectacular_!"

Imogen rolled her eyes. "There are some good points to being the protégé of an insane god with a taste for melodrama," she said. "We get to go to Scanra!"

The two girls linked arms and skipped down the corridor, chanting "To Steadfast we will go, to Steadfast we will go, heigh-ho the derry-oh, to Steadfast we will go!"

****

I'm sorry about the wait. My grandmother has cancer and my mother's taking it hard. I had to take a break from writing for a while because everything I produced was really depressed. If this chapter's not quite up to standard, that's my excuse.

In the next chapter Kally and Imogen are at Steadfast, they meet some of our favorite characters, and both Thom and Domingo return to the scene. I promise I won't go mushy. I hate mush.

Love to all reviewers, you're the salt of the earth! Also many thanks to Tamora Pierce for getting Cleon out of Kel's life in Lady Knight. She shouldn't have been with Cleon in the first place. I have nothing against Cleon, but he wasn't right for Kel. Too clingy. Now Dom on the other hand… KEL/DOM! KEL/DOM ALWAYS!


	14. Steadfast

**Chapter 14: Steadfast**

Oh great and powerful and ever-patient readers, my deepest, most humble apologies and thank you for giving me a much-needed kick in the backside to get my creative juices flowing again.  It has indeed been a full year since last I posted.  That is disgraceful and I have no excuse great enough to cover this shameful lack of progress.  However, I am back, and I hope the new instalment proves worthy of the wait.

Disclaimer: This is not mine.  It belongs to Tamora Pierce.  Don't sue me, I'm a poor student and don't have any money.

However, getting started proved to be a little harder than either Imogen or Kalasin expected.  First they had to organize horses, gear, medical supplies, message systems, food, and sundry other items both small and large.  Then they had to inform Thayet, who was delighted and envious, and the rest of the royal children, who all insisted on coming too.  Then the duo had to waste even more precious time persuading Liam, Lianne and Jasson not to stow away in their gear.  Alan and Alianne were actually pretty good about the whole business and after a few initial protests resigned themselves to staying put.  Finally, after innumerable delays and false starts, the cavalcade of princess, truthsayer, and squadron swung into action, only to be halted at the city gates by a most unexpected human figure.

"Evening, ladies," said the gallant black-haired lad who hailed them.  "I thought you might want some company on your long hard journey to Steadfast."

"Domingo, you ass," Kalasin hissed.  "What in the name of the Goddess are you doing here?"

"Coming with you, of course," he said as if it were the most natural thing in the world.  "You don't think I'd stay at home tamely while you to went off to have all the fun, now did you?"

"Fun?" choked Kalasin.  "FUN?  We're going to war, you brainless idiot.  You know, war, where people get seriously injured and killed?  How is that fun?"

Abruptly Domingo sobered.  "It's not.  That's why I can't let you go marching off all alone.  If you got hurt or never came back, I would never be able to forgive myself or look anyone in the face again."  Seeing that Kalasin was about to start protesting again, he added earnestly, "Please, Kally.  You're my only friend.  Please let me come with you.  I need you."  His blue eyes gazed at her pleadingly.

Kalasin didn't say anything for a long, long time.  Imogen, gazing at her friend, noticed that Kally's beautiful blue eyes were almost unbelievably sad. Finally, she emerged from her reverie.  "Yes," she said softly.  "Yes, you can come."   And Imogen was surprised to see a tear roll down her best friend's cheek.  "I understand, Domingo.  Believe me, I do."

Domingo swung into line behind Kalasin and Imogen and finally, finally the cavalcade was underway, bound for Steadfast.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Ouch, ouch, ouch, OUCH!" complained Imogen five days later.  "You'd think I'd have adjusted to riding by now, but no, my stubborn stupid body has to ache just the same as ever."

Kalasin unsuccessfully attempted to suppress her grin.  "Poor Imogen," she sympathized insincerely.  "It isn't that much further to Steadfast.  Just think of how relieved you'll be to have a chair that stays still for once."  Kalasin paused reflectively.  "That is, if you can sit down by then."

Imogen directed a death glare at her friend, who grinned unrepentantly at her.  The cavalcade had been riding almost constantly for the past five days, eager to get to Steadfast as soon as possible.  To Imogen's fury her body seemed to have developed a sensitivity to the saddle that was quite humiliating, especially since Kalasin didn't seem to notice it at all.  In fact, the princess seemed to have been born in the saddle from the way she rode and Imogen had seen the admiring looks members of the squad were shooting at her best friend.  However, seeing as Domingo rarely, if ever, left Kally's side, the other members of the squad hadn't much of a chance at all.

Speaking of Domingo – Imogen's eyes swivelled to the young commoner, currently sprawled out beside the squad's campfire, chatting animatedly with the men.  Feeling her eyes on him, he glanced over and saluted her, raising an eyebrow quizzically when encountering the intensity of her gaze.  She shook her head to clear her thoughts and broke eye contact, turning her head to say something to Kalasin.  However, the princess' attention was clearly elsewhere.  She too was gazing at Domingo, her eyes thoughtful.  Imogen observed her friend in silence for a few moments.

"He loves you, you know," she said very softly.  "He really loves you, Kally, to follow you this far, only to protect you."

Kalasin looked over at her friend and smiled wanly.  "I know, Imogen.  I've known for quite a while now, and he knows I know.  But it would never work.  He's a commoner, and he's happy with his life as it is.  I'm a princess, and I'm betrothed."  Her voice became bitter.  "I'm betrothed to the Emperor of Carthak, and I'll be his Empress by next winter."  Kalasin looked away.

Imogen raised herself up on her elbow and stared at her friend, her green-gold eyes piercing.  "Do you love him, Kally?  Tell me plain and simple, with no diplomacy and no deception, because that doesn't work on me.  Do you love Domingo?"

Kalasin's head shot around and she glared directly into Imogen's eyes.  Sapphire-blue and green-gold challenged each other silently for long moments, before Kalasin dropped her gaze in defeat.

"No," she said quietly, sounding tired.  "No, Imogen, I don't love him.  He's my friend and I'm very fond of him, but I can't love him."  She got to her feet, wrapped her blanket around her, and went to sit by the campfire with Domingo and the rest of the squad.

Imogen flopped down on her blanket and gazed up at the strange stars of the Tortallan sky.  "Gods," she whispered, her voice thick with unshed tears, "when did loving someone get this complicated?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Steadfast, at last!" Kalasin sang joyfully three days later as the cavalcade trotted over a rise in the ground and the fort rose into view in front of them.  "No more horses, no more camp food, no more nights on cold ground with rain pouring over us, hot baths, hot food, real beds, dry clothing…heaven on earth!"

Imogen laughed at her friend's antics, just as relieved to see their final destination within an hour's ride.  She patted Calypso's neck.  "You're truly a glorious horse, lady," she said, "but I'll be grateful to be off your back.  My legs and backside will take weeks to recover from your tender care."  The mare snorted with indignation, making Imogen giggle.

"Begging your pardon, miss, your highness," said the sergeant commanding the squad, "but if we want to get there before nightfall, we'd better start now.  Night comes on fast in the North."

The two girls exchanged glances, then looked at the sergeant.  "Lead on, Macduff," Imogen said, earning her many curious looks from her companions, none of whom had ever so much as heard of Shakespeare.  She heaved an exasperated sigh.  "I'll explain later," she promised.

Raoul was waiting for them when they rode into Steadfast.  "So here you are," he hailed them cheerfully, "the two fair maidens with enough cheek to hand an ultimatum to the king – and succeed!  That's a skill I'll have to learn for when he's trying to make me come to court functions."

Imogen grinned despite her exhaustion.  She loved the easy-going Knight Commander with his friendly demeanour and open smile.  "It's easy, sir.  All you have to do is become the human vessel of a god who lost his marbles several thousand millennia ago."

Raoul shuddered.  "I'll pass, thank you very much."  He reached up to steady Imogen as she swung down from Calypso's back.  It was a very good thing that he was there, for as soon as her legs felt solid ground under them they threatened to collapse and dump her in a very undignified heap.  "Gods, you girls must be exhausted.  Jon will kill me if anything happens to either of you.  Come on, I'll take you directly to your quarters."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

It was late the following morning when Imogen finally stirred and awoke.  The sun was high in the heavens and by the sounds outside her window, camp activities were already well underway.  Kalasin's bed was empty, indicating that the princess had awoken early but had been unwilling to disturb her exhausted friend.  Imogen stretched luxuriously and eased herself out of bed, well rested after her first full night's sleep in over a week.  She threw open the shutters and glanced down at the courtyard below.

Suddenly she froze.  She looked back down at the courtyard, then rubbed her eyes, then looked again.  The Lioness' horse was still there.  "That's it, I've finally cracked," Imogen announced to the world in general.  "Alanna's on the coast.  There's no way she'd be at Steadfast."

She was answered by a very familiar laugh from the courtyard below.  "That's what you think," called Thom.  He was staring up at her from beside his mother's horse, hazel eyes twinkling, grinning demonically.

Afterward, Imogen was never precisely sure how she managed to navigate the stairs, or exactly how she managed to get to the courtyard in one piece, considering her breakneck pace.  All of a sudden she was in the courtyard, gazing up into a pair of dancing hazel eyes that she suddenly realised she had missed terribly.  

Thom swept Imogen up into a bone-crushing hug.  "You fool," he whispered in her ear.  "You little fool.  Ma nearly had a heart attack when she heard King Jon let you and Kally go charging off to Steadfast without a keeper.  She insisted on coming here to make sure you were all right and still sane."

Imogen buried her nose in his tunic.  Gods, he smelled good!  "Mmm," she mumbled, unwilling to let him go, "when have I ever been sane?"

Thom laughed shakily, releasing her but keeping his hands on her shoulders.  "That's what I told her.  Mithros, Imogen, I've missed you so much."  He was looking at her in a way that made Imogen's stomach flip over.  Suddenly the memory of how it felt to have him kiss her came rolling back full-force and she wanted nothing more than to feel it again.  

Somebody not very far away cleared his or her throat loudly.  Imogen looked around to see Kalasin standing a short distance away, looking extremely apologetic.  "Imogen, Thom, I'm really, really sorry to interrupt, but Alanna demands to see Imogen _right now_, and I don't think it would be a good idea to argue, judging by the mood she seems to be in.  I'd rather tangle with a twenty-foot rattlesnake, personally."

Imogen groaned and hit her forehead with the heel of her hand.  "Great, an irate Lioness," she grumbled as Thom laughed.  "Just what I need to start off my morning on the right note."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

To Imogen's astonishment, the Lioness was not angry with her.  On the contrary, Alanna was extremely amused and congratulatory.

"When I first came here, I was furious," Alanna explained.  "I was ready to rip your beautiful fair head off with my bare hands.  How dare you go charging off into danger and lead the princess with you?  But after sitting here for an hour with Raoul talking to me and reminding me of all my escapades while a squire and a knight, he managed to get me to see that you did exactly what I would have done had I been in your shoes."  She made a face at the Knight-Commander.  "He also said some things about me being jealous at being upstaged, which I will choose to ignore."  Suddenly Alanna burst out laughing. "Oh, I would have given a hundred nobles to see Jon's face when that god confronted him."

Imogen grinned wryly.  "It was fairly funny.  Loge really went all-out.  I guess there are some perks to being an insane god's human vessel, though most often I wish he had chosen someone else.  He tends to pop up at the most inconvenient of times, and he's seldom there when it would be most convenient to receive help.  He doesn't abide by any set of rules I've ever heard of."

"Well, gods generally don't.  Our thoughts and opinions are truly of little or no importance to them.  Our lives are only tiny blips in the total tapestry of time – what we do and think makes little difference in the long run," Alanna explained.  Then she grinned.  "Mithros, that sounds philosophical.  I've been spending too much time around Thom."  Alanna's face softened at the mention of her eldest son.  "He's a good lad, Imogen, and he really cares a lot for you.  Don't let his façade deceive you.  He'd be devastated if anything happened to you."  As an afterthought she added, "Not that I'm really qualified to give romantic advice."  With a wry grin at the girl's astonished expression, she swept out of Raoul's office, the Knight Commander following her, shaking his head with ill-concealed amusement.

Imogen sat there with her mouth hanging open, completely flabbergasted.  "Does growing up EVER make sense?" she demanded angrily of the ceiling.

_Nope_ said the everlastingly exasperating voice of Loge.  _That's what makes you so amusing._

"Shut it, you," Imogen said irritably, and astonishingly he listened.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

That evening there was a party at Steadfast, or at least as much of a party as there could be in a military fort during a time of war.  A visit from the Lioness, no matter how brief, was cause for celebration at any time.  Some of the King's Own had found barrels of excellent wine somewhere and the spirits were distributed liberally, meaning that soon the men were in very good moods indeed, with the exception of the sentries, who had to stay alert.

Imogen had crept away from the campfire and the heart of the action early in the evening.  Despite being on the Scanran front and seeing the Lioness and Thom again, she didn't feel much like celebrating.  She was still stiff from her long ride the day before and there was something that felt suspiciously like depression weighing on her mind.  Instead she climbed onto the soft thatched roof of one of Steadfast's buildings and sprawled there in comfort, gazing up at the deep blue Tortallan night sky and meditating on how confusing her life had become in so short a time.  Scarcely six months before she had been a schoolgirl in her final year at St. Margaret's Academy, contemplating entering university.  Now she was in an entirely different world, lying on the roof of a military fort in the middle of the war, and beginning to fall in love with the son of a legend.  It made her head spin.

"Imogen?"  A soft voice behind her startled her from her reverie.  She swivelled around to see Thom's head protruding from the top of the ladder.  "Umm…can I come up?"

She nodded wordlessly.  Thom heaved his lanky form onto the roof and gingerly moved over to sit beside her.  "You wanted to get away too?" he asked.  When she nodded again, he said, "Well, you certainly picked the right spot.  It's peaceful up here."

The duo sat in silence for a long time.  Imogen watched the wisps of clouds scudding across the stars in the evening breeze.  Thom was right; it was peaceful, and beautiful, all the more beautiful because he was there to share it with her.

On the rooftop beside her Thom shifted.  "Copper for your thoughts," he said, propping himself up on his elbow to watch her.

Imogen smiled at the expression.  Some things between Tortall and Earth were amazingly similar.  "I was thinking of how much my life has changed," she said.  "I'm an entirely different person than I was in my old home.  Nothing's the same.  I have a new life, new friends, a new role to play, even a new family."

"Do you miss it?" Thom asked earnestly, his gaze intent.

"Not really," Imogen admitted honestly.  "After my parents died," she swallowed hard, then pressed on.  "After my parents died, there wasn't much left for me to miss."

Thom moved a little closer to her.  "It still hurts you, doesn't it?" he asked.  When Imogen nodded, he was silent for a moment, then asked softly, "What were your parents like, Imogen?"

The girl smiled softly, remembering.  "My mother's name was Ingemar, Ingemar Fajersson.  She was Swedish, and I always thought she was the most beautiful woman alive.  She was tall, taller than me, and her hair was the same colour, but her eyes were very blue.  I suppose I must look a bit like her.  She travelled a lot when she was young because she was a diplomat's daughter.  She was very kind, and always seemed to be laughing.  She sang all the time.  She was a teacher.  My father was a doctor.  His name was Stephen, and he was the one that taught me everything I know about the outdoors, about animals, about practical things like that.  He loved books and knowledge, a lot like you, I guess.  He met my mother at university, and they got married as soon as they graduated."  There was an ominous shake in Imogen's voice.  She swallowed, steadied herself, and continued.  "They died in an accident about two years ago, just before my sixteenth birthday.  I had no other family to take me, so I was sent to St. Margaret's.  I was never very happy there, and I have to admit I never really made an attempt to fit in.  I didn't really belong."  She smiled mirthlessly.  "Sometimes I wonder if I belong anywhere."

"You belong here," Thom said quietly and firmly.  He reached over and squeezed her hand.  "You're part of our family now.  You belong with us."

Imogen smiled, a real smile this time.  "Thanks, Thom," she said, and squeezed back.  Then she giggled.  "A few months ago, if anyone had told us we would be sitting on a rooftop together having a philosophical conversation we would have told them they had been drinking too much.  Yet another change in my extremely unpredictable life."

Silence wrapped round them again, broken only by the sounds of merriment from below.  Imogen found herself drifting off to sleep, lulled by the silence and peace of the northern night.  Disjointedly she was conscious that Thom still hadn't let go of her hand.

Thom shifted again.  Drowsily Imogen reflected that he seemed rather restless about something.  Then she felt a soft hand brush a stray lock of hair from her face.  "Goodnight, Imogen," Thom said quietly, wrapping his arm around her and kissing her forehead lightly.  Still half-asleep, Imogen shifted closer to his warmth, burying her face in his chest, utterly content to live in that moment lest it never come again.

**YES, IT'S FINALLY DONE!!!  I hope I have satisfied all my patient readers.  As you can see, the story has now taken a very strong Thom/Imogen bent.  Sorry to all who do not like this.  Domitan of Masbolle was supposed to be in this chapter, but he seems to have vanished.  No matter, Kel and Dom will be in here somewhere.  For all those who do like Thom/Imogen, sorry that there was no real romantic action in here, only hints of things to come.  For the past few weeks I have had to watch two of my best friends play tonsil hockey every time they meet – even when they're in the middle of the school hallway.  Thus the thought of romance rather makes me want to vomit.  Eurgh – young love is nauseating.**


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